


Joining the Fang Gang

by AClosedFicIsNeverRead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pack Feels, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Peter Hale Ships Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Peter Hale is a Softie, Protective Derek, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Temporary Character Death, Vampire Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AClosedFicIsNeverRead/pseuds/AClosedFicIsNeverRead
Summary: “SSSSTTTIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLEEEEEESSSS!”Lydia’s wail tore its way from her throat right in the middle of a pack meeting. The warning cry was woeful and terrified, raw in its foreboding. It pierced the veil and brought every were to their knees. The sound was barely dying out and every member of the pack was already scrambling to their feet. Shaken voices overlapped as they rushed the dazed banshee, all asking questions as she struggled to return to herself.“Where?” “What’s happening?” “Did you see him?”“I’m calling him now,” Scott announced, struggling to hold his cell in his trembling hands.“Lydia? Lydia, look at me,” Derek urged, a slight tremor in his voice as he fought to be gentle with her despite his alarm. She blinked through tears and struggled to meet his gaze as he crouched in front of her. “What did you see?”“Forest… It’s dark… Fangs… Blood… His Dad is screaming for him…” Her lips trembled as she shook her head and gasped, “Oh, God… He’s dying, Derek. I can feel it… It hurts so much… Oh, poor Stiles…”- OR -The one where Stiles is turned into a vampire, hides it from the pack, and tries to manage his new 'condition' without them noticing.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 231
Kudos: 722





	1. Chapter 1

“ _SSSSTTTIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLEEEEEESSSS!_ ”

Lydia’s wail tore its way from her throat right in the middle of a pack meeting. The warning cry was woeful and terrified, raw in its foreboding. It pierced the veil and brought every were to their knees.

The sound was barely dying out and every member of the pack was already scrambling to their feet. Shaken voices overlapped as they rushed the dazed banshee, all asking questions as she struggled to return to herself.

“Where?”

“What’s happening?”

“Did you see him?”

“I’m calling him now,” Scott announced, struggling to hold his cell in his trembling hands.

“Lydia? Lydia, look at me,” Derek urged, a slight tremor in his voice as he fought to be gentle with her despite his alarm. She blinked through tears and struggled to meet his gaze as he crouched in front of her. “What did you see?”

“Forest… It’s dark… Fangs… Blood… His Dad is screaming for him…” Her lips trembled as she shook her head and gasped, “Oh, _God_ … He’s _dying_ , Derek. I can feel it… It hurts so much… Oh, poor Stiles…” She broke off into sobs, covering her mouth with her hand and keeping her eyes open wide, afraid of what she might see if she closed them.

Derek’s jaw flexed as he held back a wave of emotion. He gave Lydia’s shoulder a squeeze of support, then quickly stood and crossed the loft.

“Is he still on that fishing trip with his Dad?” Kira asked.

“Where are they staying?” Malia asked.

“2 hours North. It’s… it’s like this massive state park,” Scott answered distractedly, gripping his hair as the line continued to ring. “They were renting a cabin for the week.” The voicemail greeting began to play and Scott drew in a deep, choppy breath as he tried to rein in his panic. “H-he’s not answering!”

“Just keep trying. I’ll try to reach the Sheriff,” Peter offered, looking uncharacteristically rattled as he made the call.

“Noah made sure I had their location, just in case,” Derek said, already holding his keys and coat and heading for the door. “Ethan, Kira, Danny – stay here with Lydia and make sure she’s okay. Scott, Cora, Malia, Peter – you’re with me. We’ll take the SUV. We’re going. _Now_.”

Scott followed after Derek on autopilot, phone still pressed to his ear and heart in his throat.

_______________________________________________

They were already racing down the highway with Derek doing at least 30 miles per hour over the speed limit when something unexpected happened.

Stiles… _answered_.

“Heyya, Scotty,” Stiles greeted.

Scott gasped and gripped the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut against tears. “ _STILES!_ Oh my God, dude! Are you okay? Lydia screamed for you.”

“Oh… She did?” Stiles asked, sounding a bit dazed.

“What the hell happened? Are you safe?” Scott demanded.

“Uh… yeah. _Yeah_. No. All good here.” Stiles answered simply.

A look of concern passed from one passenger to the next at his non-committal response.

Malia reached up and tapped at her ear, arching a purposeful brow at Cora, Peter, and Derek. They nodded in agreement. No sounds could be detected in the background of the call. No TV or voices. No animal sounds. No breathing. No heartbeats.

Nothing aside from Stiles’ voice.

It was disconcerting. 

“What happened? Where are you?” Scott pressed, still frantic.

“Um… in the woods not too far from our cabin,” Stiles answered. He cleared his throat before saying, “We did… uh… just have a little run in with a… mountain lion. Was a seriously close call. Probably what set Lydia off. We’re all good, though. All… all in one piece,” he chuckled, but his laughter was hollow. “Which is more than I can say for the mountain lion…” Almost as an afterthought, he muttered bitterly, “He won’t be munching on any more unsuspecting campers out here.”

Derek’s features twisted suspiciously at Stiles’ dark tone and phrasing. He leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes on the road but angling his face toward the phone to demand, “Any _more?_ Were you hurt?”

Stiles huffed in reply, his tone swiftly taking on its usual cheer. “Heeeeyy, Der. No. I’m good, big guy. Really. You can disengage your ‘ _Doom Brows_.’ Geez, I swear, I can feel you scowling from here.”

Cora snorted at Stiles’ words and the way Derek flinched, seeming to suddenly realize how severely his brows had been drawn together.

“Well… sounds like you had a bad night,” Scott said, glancing around at the others. “We’re already on our way up there. We can make sure you guys get settled back in okay.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles squawked. “NO. No, Scott. It’s fine. Seriously, dude. It’s already over. I’m just a little rattled. Dad and I will just get back inside and lock up. No need to come rushing up here with the rest of the fang gang.” He raised his voice purposefully as he called, “Sourwolf? Stand down! I repeat, stand down! Call off the canine cavalry!”

Derek frowned severely. He could not shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong, but Stiles was insisting he was fine. Part of Derek wanted to just keep driving regardless, just to see with his own eyes that they were safe. He did not want to ignore the teen’s request, though. This week was supposed to be about Stiles and his Dad spending time together away from all the craziness of Beacon Hills. It seemed more than a little rude to come crash their bonding time with half the pack.

Trying to come up with an alternative solution, Derek thought back to a rambling, one-sided conversation he had been subjected to by Stiles. Derek knew this had the potential to earn him a LOT of ribbing, but he grudgingly decided the risk was worth it.

Gritting his teeth, Derek reluctantly said, “Okay, we’ll turn around. You guys are heading back on Tuesday, right? Still planning on stopping off in Poughkeepsie?”

Every other passenger in the SUV looked at Derek in confusion.

Stiles, however, let out a clip of gleefully astonished laughter. His voice echoed through the SUV as he cried, “Oh. My. GOD. Derek Hale, you big, beautiful, broody bastard! Our bromance is _legendary!_ I cannot believe you remembered the code words! I freaking _knew_ you listened to me!”

Stiles let out that victorious sound he always made when he fist-pumped the air in celebration.

Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head. _God help him now_.

“Poughkeepsie?” Peter repeated in amusement, clasping his hands in his lap to convey his complete interest, and turning in his seat to fully appreciate the red hue his nephew’s ears had taken on.

“ _Shut up, Peter_ ,” Derek said tersely.

“You and Stiles have _code_ words?” Peter asked in delight. “Do you have… _safe words_ , as well?”

Derek growled in warning.

“It’s from a TV show,” Stiles explained, ignoring Peter’s teasing. “I told Derek about it and said the pack should come up with our own code words for when we’re in trouble. What Derek was asking me in code was whether I’m actually okay or someone is forcing me to lie and say I am. Although… ‘ _Funkytown’_ would have been the correct way to signal that, but I think Derek would have died a little inside if he were forced to work that into a sentence. Ain’t that right, Der?”

“This is true,” Derek deadpanned.

“Seriously, son?” came the Sheriff’s exhausted voice in the background on Stiles’ end of the call. His shuffling footsteps accompanied his words. “You’re harassing Derek? Now? After all of… this?”

Peter tilted his head to the side, glancing to Malia as they assessed the sounds coming through the line. They could hear the Sheriff’s heartbeat and breathing now, but nothing else.

“Dad, trust me. I will _always_ find the time to harass Derek,” Stiles assured.

“So… you’re really okay up there?” Scott pressed worriedly. “You’re sure you don’t want us to come?”

“No, we’re good,” Stiles insisted. “You guys just head back and try to enjoy the rest of your night. Thanks for the concern, though. Seriously. And hey, tell Lydia I said sorry for scaring her. You guys calling my phone actually really helped. The sound kinda provided a perfectly timed distraction, so… Just tell her I realize it must have been awful for her, but if she hadn’t sounded the alarm, I literally wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

A collective sigh of relief was breathed.

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” Malia announced bluntly.

“AH. Yeah. Um,” Stiles laughed awkwardly. “That – that would have sucked. Thanks, Malia.”

“Get your asses back inside the cabin and stay put until the morning, would you?” Cora ordered, then grumbled under her breath, “Jesus, we let you out of our sight for a couple of days…”

“Yes, ma’am, Commander Cora,” he chuckled. “And, uh, hey, listen…” His voice took on a weary, gravelly, utterly sincere tone as he sighed, “Just… thanks, everyone. I appreciate that you were all racing up here to help. I know if you had been here when this happened, you would have done whatever it took to keep me safe. I know that. Without a doubt. And it… it really means a lot to me.” He paused for a moment, his voice somehow quieter and even more broken as he added, “I don’t think I tell you enough that I appreciate you all. I’m really lucky we all ended up together.”

Derek’s expression softened at the sound of Stiles’ voice. Something about it pulled at his heart in a confusing way. Stiles’ tone was evoking a sorrow that did not seem to fit with the words he was speaking. There was an intense sense of loss there lurking behind his words… A resignation to something unspoken. Derek fought to swallow past a lump rising in his throat, unable to even attempt to speak a reply.

Everyone glanced at each other with varying looks in response to the emotions the teen was expressing.

“Aww, listen to you getting all mushy because you had a near-death experience,” Cora teased despite her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “We appreciate you, too, you big dork.”

“We love you, buddy. Anything you need, just call, okay?” Scott said.

“Yeah. I will. Thanks, bro,” Stiles answered, sniffling quietly. “Talk to you later.”

The line went dead.

Derek drove in silence for another ten minutes before Cora reminded him that he needed to turn around and head back home.

She had to remind him again five minutes after that. 


	2. Chapter 2

The pack reassembled back at the loft a short time later, the returning members filling everyone in on what Stiles said. The mood was considerably more relaxed than it had been, but unspoken tension radiated from everyone. Derek knew there was nothing for it. None of them would be able to fully relax until Stiles returned early the following week.

Derek himself had a storm of unidentified emotion roiling in his stomach and he could not quite identify the cause. Stiles being in danger was nowhere near a new experience, so why was he so tense this time? Maybe because it had happened when Stiles was so far away, beyond the pack’s territory? But it felt like so much more.

Derek struggled to identify what he was experiencing. His heart was heavy, as if it were too much effort to even keep beating. His wolf felt withdrawn and somehow diminished. As if it were lying silently inside him, depressed, and disconnected from his human side. An old, familiar ache had settled into the pit of his stomach.

It was _grief_ , he recognized with growing concern.

He froze in place as he realized that his body, mind, heart, and wolf were all responding as if he were intensely grieving a loss… but it made no sense. After all, Stiles was fine.

 _Stiles was **fine**_.

So why did Derek feel like he wasn’t?

Retreating into his thoughts, Derek took his favored seat on a stool beside kitchen island. Close enough to join in the conversation when he wanted, but far enough away for a bit of peace as the younger members settled in to watch a movie.

It was an hour later when a buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over to see Peter setting down the book he had been reading and fishing his phone from his pocket.

Peter glanced down at the screen with a bored expression, but it quickly dissolved into thorough intrigue. He tilted his head to the side, arching a brow, narrowing his gaze on the screen, and pursing his lips thoughtfully. He quickly put his phone back into his pocket. 

Derek kept his curiosity to himself. He knew better than to inquire as to what late night message had so thoroughly piqued his uncle’s interest. The reply would likely leave him feeling queasy and wishing he had not asked.

Peter snapped his book shut and got to his feet. With a lascivious grin, he announced, “Heading out, pups. Don’t wait up.” He winked over at the young ones and earned a varied chorus of ‘Eeww!’, ‘Go get some!’, and ‘Gross, Uncle Peter!’ in reply.

Chuckling, Peter retrieved his keys and exited the loft.

Once beyond the door and out of the view of prying eyes, Peter glanced down at the screen again to reread the message.

 **STILES:** 100% discretion required. Need a BIG favor. Call when you can talk.

“Curiouser and curiouser…” Peter hummed to himself before jogging down the stairs.

_______________________________________________

A few hours later, Peter was pulling up outside a plain cabin in the middle of nowhere. The woods were quiet – but suspiciously so. And the scent permeating the area was all wrong. He struggled to identify what he was sensing. Certainly not mountain lion blood, that was for sure.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it, studying the cabin cautiously as he spoke. “Stiles… Funny that you’re calling rather than just coming out to greet me. Have I come at a bad time?”

“Oh, I really don’t think there’s a good time for this,” Stiles assured with a humorless laugh. “Did you bring everything you could get a hold of?”

Peter turned in his seat, looking back at the pile of texts he had grabbed from his personal collection and the Hale vault. “I did. Now, are you ready to tell me why you and I are having this secret midnight book club?”

“Just… don’t freak out, okay?” Stiles said nervously.

Peter frowned. “I will do my very best. Although, given the fact that you feel I, of all people, might actually ‘ _freak out_ ’ about whatever you are about to share, I am understandably concerned and far less inclined to guarantee to anything.”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, I get it. But… just don’t make with the claws and teeth, okay?”

Peter climbed out of his car, facing the cabin, and waiting. After a few seconds, his brows drew together. “Stiles… Is your father not home?” he asked in sudden realization.

“No, he’s here. Why?” Stiles asked.

Peter’s eyes widened at that. “Because… there’s only one heartbeat in there.”

Stiles voice came from directly behind him as he answered, “I know.”

Peter spun to face him, his eyes flashing blue and fangs descending out of reflex. The sight that greeted him did nothing to settle his instincts.

Stiles gazed back at him, silent and more still than Peter had ever seen him. His skin was white as a sheet. His eyes were pools of black.

Fighting down his instinctive fear, Peter slowly reached forward, placing his trembling hand over the center of Stiles’ chest. The teen’s skin was ice cold to the touch. Beneath Peter’s warm palm, Stiles’ heart was utterly… irreversibly… _still_.

Peter’s eyes welled up at the finality of it. “Oh, my dear boy. What ever did you stumble upon in these woods?” he asked in a mournful whisper, but he knew. He winced as his wolf howled in agonized grief.

Stiles was always such a beacon of life and energy. He radiated it every second of the day. But now, he was walking death, silent and still as the grave. Peter gritted his teeth, aching for the anguish his nephew would feel when he learned of this.

“I’m still _me_ ,” Stiles whispered brokenly, fighting back tears. “I just… I need your help.”

Peter swallowed hard and nodded, taking a second to wipe his eyes. He took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders, stuffing down the pain behind an emotionless mask. “Tell me everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

Once they were inside the cabin with a fire crackling in the hearth and a veritable mountain of books piled beside the table for them to review, Stiles sat across from Peter and recalled the night’s events.

“We went down to the lake to watch the sunset,” Stiles began. “And then the sky was so clear, we sat to watch the stars and talk...”

Noah was seated at the table, body rigid and eyes haunted, hands grasping one another painfully as he fought to stay calm.

“They came out of _nowhere_. So fast and quiet,” Stiles shook his head, closing his eyes and reliving it. “They knocked my Dad out first when he was trying to get them off me. I guess they were going to kill him later. I was just supposed to be the appetizer. They, uh… shared me. Three of them.”

Peter gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

Stiles drew a trembling hand over his mouth. “But something in my blood made the leader stop. He grabbed my face and he told me they were gonna turn me instead. Next thing I knew he was slashing his forearm, shoving it against my mouth, and forcing me to drink while the other two drained me. I… I uh… remember dying.”

Stiles fought back a broken sob at the memory of the pain, fear, and grief. How he had wanted to see his friends just _one more time_. How he was so torn between wishing the pack were there save him and being so immensely relieved that they were safe back home. How much it hurt imagining them finding out about his death. How heart broken he had been for all the missed opportunities. He would never get married or have kids… He would never find the courage to tell Derek how he felt and make sure that wedding and those kids were with his Sourwolf. Honestly, he was still grieving for all of it.

“Then… I woke up like this… I was cold and dead… and hungry… But most of all? I was PISSED,” he whispered dangerously as his jaw flexed. His inky black eyes flashed in the fire light, sending an instinctive chill down Peter’s spine. “I remember thinking… these bastards were going to kill my Dad. They had stolen me from my pack. They had taken away my life and my future. They needed to BURN for what they had done. And then… they just… _did_.”

Peter’s eyes widened, recalling the strange, lingering scent hanging in the air outside. It was magic.

“Your spark?” Peter breathed.

“More like a wildfire now,” Stiles answered with a nervous shrug.

Peter exhaled in surprise, running a hand over his face as he processed this.

“Well…” Peter began. “We know receiving a transformative bite can unlock nascent abilities. Just look at Lydia. Your magic was likely the reason they decided to turn you. They knew it would make you powerful.” He tilted his head as he added with a smile, “What they failed to anticipate, however, was just how loathe you are to follow orders.”

Stiles chuckled. “True story.”

Peter sat in silence for a moment before breathing regretfully, “Lydia really did see your death…”

Stiles winced. “Yeah. I hope she manages to repress that memory soon. The phone call really did save me, somewhat. I mean, I was already dead by the time I registered that the phone was even ringing, but I was so lost inside my head. I was giving up. I was gonna burn with them. But the phone just kept on ringing reminding me that I had a reason to come back – that my pack was reaching out for me, not willing to let me go.”

“How can I help?” Peter asked after a moment.

“My son is now a… _vampire…_ ” Noah began, finally finding his voice and forcing the word from his mouth with great difficulty. “We need to separate fact from fiction on that, for starters.”

Peter tilted his head to the side and added, “And we will need to find out just how many of the usual rules actually apply to Stiles.”

“Also, I have this apparent newly accessible reserve of magic I need to figure out how to tap into,” Stiles reminded. “I was wondering if I can use it to help manage my new… condition.” He pulled out a piece of paper covered in hastily scrawled notes. “I already have a bunch of ideas for how I might make this work, but first I have to learn.”

“Hence our secret midnight book club,” Peter said with a nod. He sat up, clapping his hands together. “Fair enough. I brought my laptop, as well. There are a ton of additional texts I have scanned in over the years for easy reference. Before we start, though… I have to ask… why did you reach out to _me_?”

Stiles shrugged, smiling as he teased, “Well, out of everybody, I’ll be the least broken up about it if I eat you.”

Peter tossed his head back and laughed, evidently finding Stiles’ words deeply amusing.

The Sheriff gave the werewolf a wary look, wondering for the hundredth time about the man’s alleged recovery from insanity.

Once he had settled back down, Peter nodded and said fondly, “Fair enough.”

Stiles’ smile slowly melted away before he admitted, “In all seriousness… I know I look like I am managing this shit really well, but honestly, all I can think about is killing and eating.” He brought a visibly trembling hand to his temple, grimacing and gritting his teeth as he croaked, “The hunger is just this… constant… _screaming_ inside of my head. I can hear your hearts beating and it’s like a goddamn dinner bell. You both smell so fucking good and I am _STARVING_ , but I can’t let myself give in to it.”

Peter frowned thoughtfully, steepling his fingers in front of his chin and considering possible methods to sate the thirst that would agree with Stiles’ sense of morality.

“ _I don’t want to die, Peter_ ,” Stiles whispered tearfully.

Peter went rigid, looking up at the teen and fighting to keep his expression neutral despite the pain those words inflicted upon him.

Stiles flinched as he said in realization, “Or… well, I guess that ship has already sailed, hasn’t it?” He choked out a bitter laugh. “I guess it’s more like… I don’t want to _be gone_. I want to stay here. I want to help my pack. I want to keep fighting. I want to have whatever kind of a half-life I can carve out. But… I will not allow myself to continue existing if I’m gonna kill innocent people. So, this is it. Right here, right now. Pass or fail. Sink or swim. I gotta figure this out… or I never go home. Either I find a way to stay in control, or we end me. It’s that simple.”

Noah shifted in his chair, jaw jutting out to the side as he fought to keep his tears in check.

“I can’t put it all on my Dad,” Stiles said. “If I went to Scott for help, he’d be more focused on saving me than acknowledging whether it was even possible. And God, _Derek_ , man…” His eyes watered as he shook his head. “Derek’s been through enough. I can’t put this on him. I won’t. I’m already half convinced he got all those muscles by carrying around double his body weight in guilt every second of the day. So… the reason I came to you for help, Peter… is because I _trust you_ to put the pack’s safety first. I _trust you_ to do what is necessary. I _trust you_ to kill me if it means helping me protect the pack.”

Peter took a deep breath, deeply affected by Stiles’ belief that he was worthy of trust. Taking a moment to calm himself, he nodded in understanding. “Alright. Let’s find a way to ensure that won’t be necessary, shall we?”


	4. Chapter 4

Derek paced the interior of the loft. His phone was still clutched tightly in his hand. It was now _Thursday_ , and Stiles and the Sheriff still had not returned from their trip. Derek would have already driven up to retrieve them himself were it not for Stiles’ adamant assurance that they were on their way home.

Derek had… not so much _ordered_ … more like _strongly recommended_ that Stiles come straight to the loft once they were back in town.

Movement behind him caused his eyes to flick to the source, and he reminded himself for the dozenth time that he was not alone. The rest of the pack were seated around the loft, silently waiting for their missing member to arrive.

The sound of the Jeep’s engine in the distance caused a mass sigh of relief. They listened while he parked and made his way into the building and into the elevator. Listened as it brought him to the loft entrance.

“ _Wow,_ ” Stiles breathed when he walked through the door. He looked around the space with a notably anxious smile. “Um… Heeyyyyy, guys…” He waved awkwardly, then frowned as he offered, “Is this like an intervention or something? Because if so, I regret to inform you, I am not _actually_ on any recreational drugs. I know this will come as a bit of a shock, but all of my eccentric behavior and twitchiness is, sadly, 100% natural me.”

In an instant, everyone was moving towards him, and he yelped as he was pulled into a group hug.

“What in the –? _Hey!_ Easy with the grips, people!” he cried.

Derek hung back, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he fought back the overwhelming instinct to shove everyone else aside and check Stiles over himself. He watched as the others joked with the teen and scent marked him, watched the way his smile became more genuine in response to their happiness to see him.

“Stiles,” Derek greeted once he had finally been released. Derek’s jaw flexed and he caved slightly to his need for reassuring contact. Holding up an arm, he waved with his hand for Stiles to come stand under it.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he glanced from Derek’s hand to his face and back. He swallowed with a degree of difficulty before following the Alpha’s unspoken summons.

As soon as Stiles was under his arm, Derek brought it down around him tightly, dragging him closer and rubbing his stubbled cheek against the side of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles’ hands came up instinctively, wrapping around Derek in what Stiles was absolutely certain was their first-ever hug.

Derek chuffed into Stiles’ skin over his pulse point a few times, then again down into the nape of his neck, ensuring that his scent would be the strongest there. His wolf deeply approved of this, although it felt he ought to be licking at Stiles’ skin, as well. Derek narrowly resisted those instincts.

In response to the unexpected and intimate contact, Stiles’ fingers pressed into Derek’s skin, holding on for dear life. All of the air in his lungs left in a rush as his body thrummed with longing and need.

Derek’s brow furrowed as he listened to Stiles’ heartbeat and took in his scent. Something was… _wrong_. Stiles was changed, in scent and sound. Things were missing… and something new was present. He wanted to push Stiles down on the couch right then and investigate, just spend the day dragging his nose and lips all over Stiles’ skin, breathing him in until he managed to work out the puzzle. But resisting the urge to touch Stiles was nothing new. And at least his wolf was somewhat appeased now that he had been able to feel for himself that Stiles was safe.

Painfully aware of the fact that every eye was trained on him, Derek cleared his throat and reluctantly released Stiles. “It’s good to have you back,” he managed somewhat hoarsely.

“Yeah… _yeah_ , man. Good… good to be back,” Stiles muttered – sounding and looking rather dazed as he stepped back away from the Alpha.

“Stiles,” Peter greeted from the stairwell door, although it was clear he had been standing there during the entire exchange.

Derek looked up to see Peter approaching with a wide smile on his face. The Alpha frowned disapprovingly as his uncle pulled Stiles into a tight embrace, clapping the teen on the back. Derek’s eyes narrowed, catching on Peter’s and glowing red in warning before Peter could bring his face anywhere near the side of Stiles’ neck. Peter flashed a smile in reply and avoided covering his nephew’s clearly scented claim.

The pack spent the evening joking and talking raucously, devouring a truly alarming amount of Chinese food, and piling onto the couch to watch movies. Stiles had answered countless questions about what had happened on his trip. Troublingly, Derek’s gut told him that Stiles was lying about the night Lydia wailed her warning of his death, but the teen’s heartbeat remained constant and steady. It was frustrating.

Derek stayed back from the others; a deep frown set on his face as he listened closely. _Constant and steady_ …

When the night came to an end and everyone rose to gather their belongings and say their goodbyes, Derek stood by the door and waited to test his theory.

“Night, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, last one out as usual.

Derek placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, making direct eye contact, and letting the corners of his mouth lift in his own interpretation of a fond smile. Funny that he only ever used this expression towards Stiles.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” he said quietly. He watched as Stiles swallowed hard, and took in the slight tremor in his long, slender fingers. Both responses were expected, but nothing else accompanied them.

Stiles ducked his head and nodded, waving awkwardly as he made his way out the door.

Derek glowered as he returned to his seat, his mind turning over his worries again and again as he tried to puzzle it out. 

“What – may I ask – is causing this particularly lengthy and severe scowling session, oh nephew mine?” Peter asked as he leaned across the counter beside Derek.

Derek rolled his eyes, knowing better than to hope Peter would leave him alone if he ignored his presence. “Something is off about Stiles,” he answered.

“Really? What?” Peter asked curiously.

Derek frowned as he considered it. “His heartbeat.”

Peter arched a brow before declaring, “Sounded fine to me.”

Derek gritted his teeth. Of course it would sound fine to _others_. But Derek was an expert on listening to the unique rhythm of Stiles’ heart – had used it to calm himself more times that he would ever admit. And now it was all wrong. Too steady. Too normal. Not the usual varying tempo – from his baseline that was always just a bit faster than anyone else’s, to his excited and eager beat that rivaled a hummingbird’s wings.

“It’s… not right. It doesn’t…” Derek sighed, not wanting to give too much away. “It doesn’t fluctuate right.”

Peter studied Derek closely, as if reading in his expression everything he did not wish to say aloud.

“ _Ah_ ,” Peter finally said with a knowing smile. “You mean to say that his heartrate did not… _elevate…_ when you expected it would.” He turned his head and his eyes purposefully wandered over to the place where Derek and Stiles had been standing during their reunion hug.

Derek reached up and roughly rubbed at his beard, holding back his irritation at Peter’s meddling.

“Is that all?” Peter asked, quirking a brow at the tick in his nephew’s jaw.

With great reluctance, Derek admitted, “No. His scent is wrong, too.”

Peter nodded. “And is the issue aligned with his heart not elevating appropriately for you? Did his scent remain similarly unchanged when it otherwise would not in your direct presence?”

Derek’s eyes rolled closed as his jaw flexed furiously. "Yes," he ground out grudgingly. “It’s _different_ , too. Somehow. I can’t…” He shook his head, unable to place what was off. “But something about it is different.”

“I see,” Peter said. “Perhaps he is still feeling out of sorts from his trip? I am sure he will be back to himself in no time once he settles back into his routines. Just give it time.”

Derek gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dude, I get that I am a literal creature of the night now, but _seriously_?” Stiles balked, waving a hand around to the dark and secluded forest clearing Peter had selected for their meeting place. “If I weren’t already dead, I’d worry you were planning to murder me out here.”

“Derek is suspicious,” Peter informed him plainly.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he closed the considerable distance between them in a flash, forgetting in his distress to restrict his movements to those of a human. His speed and grace were now vastly superior to those of even werewolves. Peter smiled proudly at this, knowing that the next time Stiles was put in a position to defend their pack, no enemy would survive against him.

“Oh no. Oh shit. Why? What happened?” Stiles asked anxiously as he gripped his head. “What did he say? Does he know? What did I do to tip him off?”

Peter held up his hands. “You did not do anything wrong. And no, he does not know. He is merely aware that something about you is, as he so eloquently puts it, ‘ _off_.’ The illusions you are using may be a bit too… stable,” he said thoughtfully. “They are not allowing your pulse or scent to change as they ordinarily would. Given the amount of time you and Derek have spent in close proximity to one another, he is concerned by the change.”

Stiles nodded jerkily. “Okay. Okay. Right. Yeah. This is fine. We can totally figure this out.” Despite his words, he closed his eyes and fought off a wave of panic. He clutched at his chest before gasping, “Oh _God_ … what if I can’t do this?”

Peter stepped forward and gripped Stiles’ hands. “Tonight was only a test run, remember? You already knew you would most likely need to make adjustments. Try to keep in mind how much you have already accomplished in such a short time.” He looked down at the hands in his grasp and frowned in consideration before releasing them. “You need to tweak your illusion for your body temperature, as well. Your skin should be chilled from the night air, but you are still as warm as can be.” He suppressed a smile as he said, “My nephew will notice such things, believe me.”

Stiles focused on his wholly unnecessary breathing as he tried to calm down. His body no longer required oxygen, but he took comfort in the routine. With shaky hands, he pulled a small, leatherbound journal from his pocket (a gift from Peter to replace the folded, crumpled sheets of paper he had been using.) Pulling out a pen, he opened to a fresh page and began hurriedly scribbling notes, able to see perfectly even in the dim moonlight.

“Okay… um… so, I just… I need to change my approach, that’s all,” Stiles said, nodding to himself. “I need to think less like… _one giant blanket_ illusion of normalcy… and instead do a ton of _smaller_ ones, all customized to me, personally. And I need to be more specific in exactly what I want my magic to accomplish. Maybe have my perceived scent and heartrate change based on my emotions? Like… link them to my thoughts, and mimic what my corresponding physical reactions would be if I were still human…” He scribbled for a moment, muttering other ideas under his breath.

“Let’s work on that while we’re here tonight,” Peter suggested. “Perhaps you can also come up with a way to _feel_ temperature as you ordinarily would? It is far too cool tonight for you to be dressed like this.”

Stiles paused in his writing and glanced down at his clothes. He looked back up at Peter curiously and noted the werewolf’s heavy, predictably stylish, and obviously very expensive jacket. Then he noticed in disappointment that he could see Peter’s breath, but not his own. He sighed and scrunched up his face as he scratched the back of his neck in frustration. He went back to writing while muttering, “… _find… way… feel temperature… Ensure… proper temp… of breath_ …”

Peter smiled fondly at the teen. “Ah, Stiles. You are one of a kind, that is for sure.”

Stiles quirked a brow, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he finished hurriedly jotting down his latest thought. Once his pen stilled, he looked up at Peter. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Peter’s smile widened as he said sincerely, “I cannot, for the life of me, imagine anyone else taking to this situation as well as you have.”

“Uh… thanks, I think?” Stiles laughed before tucking his book and pen back into his pocket.

“It was intended as a compliment, so you are welcome,” Peter said before declaring, “We should hunt again before anything else. You have not fed properly in two days. I know you wanted to track how long you can go between feedings. How is your hunger?”

Stiles paused to assess himself. After a moment, he said with a shrug, “I could eat.”

Peter chuckled. “Spoken like a true teenaged vampire. Have you been able to gauge how long you can go without blood?”

“I think it depends on how much magic I’m using…” Stiles said, frowning as he thought it over. “Like, I will always have to make sure I have enough of both – blood and magic. It feels like, if I am low on one, the other depletes a lot faster.”

Peter nodded. “Makes sense. You are using both to sustain your very existence, after all.”

Stiles muttered his agreement, then glanced back at Peter with an anxious look on his face. “Hey, I was thinking… I want to come up with some kind of a… kill switch,” he said, trying to gauge Peter’s reaction to his words as he continued. “I know I asked you to hunt with me just in case I ever need someone to stop me, but… the more I’ve been testing myself, the more I’m starting to realize… I really don’t think you’d be able to put me down.” With a bitter laugh, he admitted, “Shit, I don’t think the whole pack could, either.”

Peter sighed and nodded. “I reached the same conclusion after the last time we hunted together.”

Stiles winced. “I don’t want to become the next Big Bad, dude. I can’t go out like that. So… I was thinking I might come up with a spell,” he said, playing with his fingers anxiously. “Maybe enchant a necklace or something you could wear? And imbue it with my will, giving it the power to kill me if necessary. I don’t think I can fight my own magic, so I really think it could work.”

It took a moment for Peter to reply. “Could you perhaps give it the power to _bind_ you, instead?”

Stiles gave him a skeptical look. “You’re not gonna go soft on me, are you?” he teased. “I thought you’d be all for offing me if the situation called for it. Shit, should I have asked Lydia?” He made a show of considering it.

Peter huffed and suppressed a smile. “Now, now. While I do agree that Lydia has the potential to be every bit as vicious as I am, there is no need to relieve me of my post as your designated executioner. I did not say that I would hesitate to kill you. I am simply suggesting that we include a few levels in our ‘Stop Stiles’ plan. I mean, what if you are not quite at ‘Big Bad’ level? What if you are simply cranky because you have not eaten? Am I to be expected to kill you when you are basically just the supernatural equivalent of Joe Pesci in that Snickers commercial?”

Stiles clutched his stomach and tossed his head back to laugh at that.

After a moment, he nodded. “Okay, okay, fine. I see your point. We may need to come up with a scale or something. Level one is definitely ‘Joe Pesci.’ And like, if I’m having a ‘Dark Willow’ moment, that would be super bad, but still a step below ‘Big Bad’ because it’s still possible to come back from it.”

His expression turned thoughtful, and yet again, he was pulling out his journal to scribble notes.

“Maybe the spell could be linked to my uncompromised consciousness…” he mused. “Like, a snapshot of what choices I would make in my right state of mind? That way, all you would need to do is activate it, and I could decide for myself on the course of action based on the situation?”

Judging by the gleam in Stiles’ eyes, Peter knew that he would be devoting a lot of time to this project.

“Excellent.” Peter said in approval and waited for him to finish with his notes. (It took a couple of minutes.) Turning, he pointed off into the trees and said, “I caught scent of a herd of deer not far from here.”

Stiles’ eyes shifted to pure black as he allowed his senses to survey the area. “Three bucks close to the river,” he said knowingly. “Eight does and two fawns to the south of them.” He looked to Peter before saying, “The bucks are preferable. I think one would last me at least a few days, so long as I don’t have to use any heavy magic.”

Peter nodded. “Very well. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I would like to remind you that, if it ever came down to it, you could always – ”

Stiles held up a hand and scowled. “You’re right. I don’t want to hear it. I’m _not_ going to feed from you, Peter.”

The werewolf shrugged. “I am simply saying, if it were an emergency, and it was a choice between me or some random hiker out here in the woods, you should keep in mind that a werewolf’s blood would be infinitely more satisfying than that of a human and my chances of survival would be far greater.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “The _only way_ I would consider it is if it were life or death. I don’t know how I would handle it. I honestly don’t think I would be able to stop myself once I started. I sort of… check out… mentally… while I’m feeding.”

“Perhaps you should practice on the deer?” Peter suggested. “Work on control while you feed, just in case you are ever in a situation where that control can save a life.”

Stiles nodded and tipped his head back, breathing in and easily catching the scent of his prey. As he exhaled, he let his illusions melt away, his skin growing pale as snow while his mouth filled with curved fangs – long and sharp as razors. His heartbeat and scent vanished. He glanced over at the werewolf before smiling and saying in the notably deeper, oddly melodic voice of his vampiric shift, “ _Race you there!”_

Peter scoffed at that because, by the time he registered Stiles’ words, the vampire was already long gone.

“That is cheating!” Peter called after him in mock disapproval.

He followed along, using his senses to guide him until he found Stiles already crouched down over a buck, feeding noisily. He watched in fascination, marveling at what a truly capable killer the teen had become. He could hear the buck’s heart slowing.

“Remember that you wanted to practice control,” Peter reminded quietly.

Stiles growled ferociously in reply, glaring up at him over his meal.

“Try to stop before its heart gives out,” Peter urged. “Try to imagine it is – ”

Before he could finish that sentence, Stiles dashed backward several yards, effortlessly dragging the massive animal along with him, and bit down harder, seemingly in response to the possibility of his meal being taken away prematurely.

Peter winced at the sound of tendons and flesh wetly giving way under the power of the vampire’s jaws. “Well… at least I did not get the chance to say, ‘ _Imagine it is me_ ,’” he joked with a queasy smile.

Stiles finished draining the buck and went to the river to wash the blood from his body and clothes. Peter watched silently as the teen returned to the animal’s carcass and held out a hand. The buck glowed with an intense amber colored light for a moment before rapidly falling away to ash.

“I _do_ so love that little trick in particular,” Peter declared in delight. “Think of the hours of work it will save me when we have to dispose of bodies.”

Stiles chuckled and shook his head, using his magic to dry his clothes.

_______________________________________________

They spent the next couple of hours working on various improvements on his illusions. By the time they were finished, Stiles had crossed off every item on his to do list. (Well, aside from the kill switch necklace, of course. That would take a while.)

Once his illusions were all back in place, he looked and smelled as if nothing had ever happened.

“Now to test it out,” Peter said.

“Hit me,” Stiles said, waving the werewolf to check it over.

“I want you to close your eyes…” Peter began.

“ _Creepy_ , but okay, I’m with you so far,” Stiles teased as he closed his eyes.

Peter finished with a knowing smile, “…and recall in perfect detail the hug you received from Derek when you arrived at the loft.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped open wide and his lips parted in surprise.

Peter held up a finger and said in amusement, “You may want to make a note to add an illusion for your standard blushing, too.”

Stiles frowned for a moment before grudgingly pulling out his journal and writing that down.

Peter waited for him to finish before going on, “As I was saying – and as you _ordinarily_ would have blushed over – I need you to recall that hug so I can gauge how accurately your magic depicts your body’s expected reactions.”

Stiles grumbled under his breath before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and letting the memory replay in vivid detail.

Peter took a step closer, leaning in and breathing Stiles’ scent. “Oh… _wow_ ,” he chuckled in surprise. He had known what to expect, of course, but he had severely underestimated the intensity and allure. He fully understood now the reason for Derek’s extreme disappointment when Stiles' scent had remained unchanged for him. “Okay, yes, I am going to say that is a perfectly accurate response.”

With a scowl, Stiles opened his eyes and warned, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Peter held up his hands, then mimed zipping his lips shut and assured, “Not a word.” (That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be harassing Derek about it and nudging him in Stiles’ direction as often as possible.)

They set out a few moments later, finished all that they had wanted to accomplish for the night.

“You should be prepared to tell Derek about at least your magic soon,” Peter mused as they made their way toward the forest’s edge. 

“What? Why?” Stiles asked worriedly.

“I told you, it has a distinct scent,” Peter reminded. “Derek has already detected it but could not yet identify it. He is not going to stop puzzling over it until he has an answer. I would not be surprised if he stops by to see you at home in the coming days. Perhaps, if cornered for answers, you could offer your growing spark to him as an explanation for what is different about you?”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… maybe…” he muttered.

Noting Stiles’ hesitation, Peter stopped and reached out, catching him by the elbow, and looking at him purposefully. “You know that he will not judge you for all of this, right? When he eventually finds out? You are pack. You are family. And even with all that scowling, you must be able to read the fact that you are clearly his favorite. He would never turn you away.”

Stiles’ bottom lip trembled, and eyes welled up. He fought to control his emotions for a moment. “I can’t…” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t even think about that yet. I can’t tell him. Or any of them. I’m just… it’s still too fresh. I just want to pretend everything is okay for as long as possible. I don’t want him to look at me like… like I’m not the same person anymore. I _need_ it to be the same for now. I can’t lose anything else yet. I can’t risk it. Because once he knows…” He shakes his head, unable to voice all the things of which he is afraid.

Peter sighed and nodded. “That is your decision. I will not force you to tell anyone. But do not allow your fears to convince you that it will be the end of the world for Derek to find out.”

"No promises," Stiles muttered. 

_______________________________________________

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** What do you think so far? Love it? Hate it? Favorite parts or lines? 

Remember - your comments = my writing motivation!

Keep 'em coming! :) <3 


	6. Chapter 6

A few hours later, just before dawn, Stiles was sitting out on the roof outside his bedroom window. For all the foot traffic this section of roof had received in recent years, he had never actually been out there himself. But then, he found that he was quite a bit more adventurous since his death.

When the sun rose above the horizon, he sighed in profound appreciation.

It had been a great relief to find that sunlight would not obliterate him like in the movies. It had, at first, caused some rather painful damage, but he had since learned to use his magic to protect himself.

He held up a hand, watching as the first rays of sunlight cast the skin of his palm in a warm orange glow, and smiled, incredibly thankful that he was still around.

Not alive. Not _really_. But… around. Which was more than he could have hoped for, all things considered. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking in on his moment of serenity, and he frowned as he pulled it out, wondering who could possibly be bothering him at this hour. Very few people he knew would even be awake yet. The text on the screen had him arching a curious brow.

 **LYDIA:** I will be there in 5 minutes. Make sure you are dressed for company.

 **LYDIA:** And no, Batman boxers and a ratty t-shirt are not suitable attire when receiving a guest.

He chuckled and shook his head. It had been _one time!_ Geez. He figured he would be forgiven for the fashion faux pas considering Lydia and the others had shown up at his door unannounced after midnight, fleeing from a ghoul. But no. Evidently, she was never going to let that one slide.

 **STILES:** Fashion is all about taking risks! Don’t be jelly because I’m a trendsetter.

 **STILES:** Besides, I’m wearing my Superman boxers and a less ratty t-shirt today. Way classier.

He glanced down at his clothes and decided to change. He had lied, after all. He was actually still wearing his clothing from the night before. He supposed he should at least make it appear as if he slept. He stood and went inside, wondering what had earned him this rather unexpected visit from the queen herself.

Precisely 5 minutes later, the illustrious Ms. Martin was pulling into his driveway, exiting her vehicle one impossibly high-heeled shoe at a time, already dressed to the nines with her hair and makeup flawless.

“Lydia,” he greeted with a bemused smile. He held his front door open and motioned for her to come in. “What, might I ask, brings you over here at the ass crack of dawn?”

“You weren’t sleeping,” she stated knowingly. She entered the home and sat primly on the edge of the couch, smoothing her skirt, and watching him appraisingly as he closed the door.

“True… but that doesn’t answer my question,” he reminded, taking a seat beside her.

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but sighed instead, closing her mouth, and tilting her head to the side. She let her eyes wander over his face for a moment, lost in a thought she did not immediately share.

Stiles tried not to give in to the reflex to fall back on his human fidgeting. It was one of the countless tiny behaviors he was still clinging to, and he did draw comfort from the familiar actions, but it was no longer involuntary. He could refrain from doing it if it would make him appear guilty.

“Something on your mind, Lyds?” he asked with a frown.

“You know what being a banshee _means_ , right?” she asked quietly.

His brows drew together, and he chose not to reply. He was not sure where she was going with this, but he really, really hoped his best guess was wrong.

“Stiles, I have a…” She paused to carefully consider her words. “… a _unique_ … relationship with death. I can hear it… see it… feel it in ways that I cannot even attempt to express.”

She shook her head before reaching out and taking his hand, bringing it over onto her lap. She studied it for a moment, pursing her lips as she got that familiar, faraway look in her eyes.

“The night I screamed for you, I saw a lot of things – most of which I wish I could forget. But do you know the one thing I very definitely I did not see?” She turned and met his gaze, waiting a few seconds before saying firmly, “A mountain lion.”

Stiles tried to keep his expression unreadable.

Lydia sighed and looked back down at his hand. After a moment, she whispered in puzzlement, “How are you _doing_ this?”

She ran her fingers across his skin carefully, her expression a mixture of confusion and awe.

“Doing what?” he asked, a slight tremor to his voice.

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Don’t test me, Stiles,” she warned, though there was no real anger in her tone. “I didn’t want to say anything at the loft last night, but I can see it. Almost like… an _overlay_ …” She frowned as she examined his hand closely. “Like a mask over reality.”

Stiles pulled his hand away and stuffed it into his pocket, swallowing back emotion as he kept his eyes locked on the floor.

“Hey… you don’t have to hide from me,” she said gently, bringing her hand up to his cheek and waiting for him to hesitantly look at her. “I can see you under there. The _real_ you. And it’s okay,” she assured with a smile. “I know you crossed the veil and returned. That trip automatically puts you on my radar. It’s the reason I’m…” she rolled her eyes dramatically, “… _unfortunately_ also attuned to Peter. But with you it feels different. You were not simply touched by the veil like he was. It is _in_ you. A _part_ of you.” She took a steadying breath and said purposefully, “I… did a little light reading in archaic Latin last night…”

Stiles winced and closed his eyes.

Oh God, she had been reading the bestiary. Which meant…

“I know what attacked you,” she whispered. “And I know what you are now.”

He tried to stay calm despite his fear and sorrow.

“What I _don’t_ know is how you are doing _this_ ,” she stressed again, sounding thoroughly flummoxed.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he opened his eyes to look over at her.

She was studying him in open fascination, as if he were some complex mathematical equation to be solved. “I don’t know how you’re appearing like this to everyone else. Or how you managed to get yourself under control. According to what I read, you should be ravenous, homicidal, and have lost all traces of humanity.” She arched a brow. “ _Clearly_ none of that is true, which means you figured out some way to keep yourself in line. I know damned well that, if you did not believe it was safe, you never would have come home. You wouldn’t have gone near the pack, and you most _certainly_ would not have allowed me to come over here alone.”

“Well, shit…” Stiles gave a wet, sad laugh. “This is what I get for being friends with a literal genius.”

Lydia laughed with him, giving him a smile that was simultaneously sympathetic and warm.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Lydia not pressing for anything.

Then, finally, like a dam breaking, he told her what happened. He recalled everything leading up to and following his death in detail, then gave an overview of what had gone on since.

Many tears were shed, and Lydia’s makeup was most definitely no longer flawless by the time they finished.

“You’re right, Stiles. You are still _you_ ,” she declared with a sniffle as she dried her cheeks with a tissue. After a moment, she took a breath and asked, “Will you show me? What you look like without all of the illusions? I can see you there, but…” She shook her head and squinted. “You’re clouded by your magic. It’s like trying to see through fog. I want to see my friend _clearly_.”

Sighing and considering it for a moment, he finally nodded and let go, allowing himself to appear as he truly was. He let his fangs and eyes shift as well.

Instead of recoiling, she gave him a warm smile as she studied his new appearance.

And as he gazed back at her, he gasped in awe. His black eyes glittered tearfully as he whispered in the strange voice of his vampiric shift, “ _I can see you, too_.”

There, overlaid on her physical form, was her banshee aura. It rolled over her like smoke or white flames. Now he understood the traditional depiction of her kind. Her hair was long and white, and it floated around her fluidly, as if she were under water. She was adorned in a flowing, white, hooded gown that was similarly suspended in a perpetual, ethereal float.

He stared at her in admiration, a single tear falling down his cheek as he breathed, “ _God_ , Lyds… you’re just as gorgeous in banshee form.”

She laughed and batted her eyelashes before teasing, “Was there ever any doubt?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “ _Never_.”

“Your eyes are so dark…” she marveled, leaning in close. “Like looking directly into the veil… How are your senses?”

He took a moment to consider it. “Like… a thousand times sharper. I can hear heartbeats from miles away. Smell absolutely _everything_ and I can’t even begin to try and sort it all out…” He frowned as he explained, “Scents are like this whole new language and I don’t understand a single word of it yet. Like right now, for instance, I can smell about a million things on you – everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve touched. Who you’ve been with and probably what you’re feeling, too, but… it’s all still Greek to me.” He shrugged as he admitted, “It was too overwhelming at first, made it impossible to think properly, so I just… figured out how to dial it all the way down any time I’m not shifted like this.” He pointed up at his blackened eyes and fangs. “With time and training, I’m sure I’ll eventually be able to use my senses with all the illusions in place, but for now, when I look like regular old me, I’m only operating at about 2% strength.”

Lydia took another moment to study him before saying sincerely, “Thank you for letting me see you properly.”

Stiles nodded and, in the span of a few blinks of his eyes, he let his vampiric shift recede and slipped all of his illusions back into place.

“This does not change who you are _or_ how much we love you,” she assured. “You know that, right?”

He shrugged awkwardly, averting his gaze as he muttered, “I mean… it changes things at least a little…”

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “Did you feel differently about Scott when he was bitten?”

He looked up at her with a frown and shook his head.

“Did you feel differently about _me_ when we finally figured out what I am?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he answered resolutely. “But this is different. I’m _dead_ , Lydia. I can’t even – ”

She held up a hand, expression stern as she challenged, “Did you turn your back on Derek when he was making terrible choices as a new Alpha? Or on Malia when she was struggling with control? Did you let Cora isolate herself from everyone when she first arrived? Have you, at any point, _ever_ abandoned one of us when you saw we were struggling?” she asked pointedly.

He swallowed hard and shook his head.

“ _NO_. You stuck by us,” she reminded. “All of us. Every single member of our pack – even the ones who are no longer with us. You helped, supported, and comforted us as we stumbled our way through our new existences. Even when we didn’t appreciate your efforts. Even when we made it hard to stick with us. You loved us at our most unlovable. And we will do the exact same for you now.” With fiery determination, she gripped his hand and said, “I promise, when the pack finds out, you will not lose us.”

Stiles bit his lips and nodded, wincing to hold back tears. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Yeah… Peter said pretty much the same thing, just without all the examples of my past awesomeness,” he joked with a watery smile.

“ _UGH_ ,” she groaned, recoiling and making a show of looking ill. “Don’t give me any more reasons to feel unwillingly appreciative toward Peter, I am begging you. I can barely stomach being thankful for all the help he provided you with so far.”

Stiles chuckled at that.

“Now, what are you planning to do?” she asked. “You know you can’t keep this a secret forever.”

He sighed. “Well – as I told Peter – I want to wait at least a little while. This has all been _a lot_ to take in and adapt to. Right now it’s like… I _need_ all the normalcy I can get. I need to watch TV and do dishes and laundry. I need Dad to harp on me about not leaving wet towels on the floor. I need you to be my Goddess Ice Queen… Beautiful and terrible as the dawn. Treacherous as the sea.”

“Are you quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?” she asked in amusement.

“See? Exactly! My Goddess Ice Queen who never lets me get away with shit,” he joked. “I need Derek to scowl at me and bicker with me. To show up in my room at odd hours of the night asking for help with research because, for all his badassery, he still hasn’t mastered the art of an internet search.”

Lydia scoffed and muttered sarcastically, “Yeah, _that’s_ the only reason Derek insists on dropping by…”

Stiles pointedly chose to ignore that comment and continued on his rant, “I need Scott to be too precious for this world and dopily obsessed with Kira. I need Kira to be her usual delightful, ray of sunshine, wonderfully awkward and geeky self. I need Cora to continue being our abrasive, little mini-Derek in a ponytail who expresses her sisterly affection for me with empty threats of physical violence toward my person. I need Malia to say terribly insulting and inappropriate things in that adorably forgivable way only she could pull off. And I need Danny and Ethan to continue being complete couple goals and giving us all hope that we, too, could one day have our very own, very gay happily ever after. I just…” He paused, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath. “I _need_ the pack to be… the way it was before this happened. You are all my rock right now. And... I’ll tell everyone at some point, I’m sure. But… not yet. Okay?”

Lydia considered this for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I can understand that,” she said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Changing the subject, she stated casually, “So, last night… you were out in the Preserve with Peter.” She smiled at the stunned look he gave her in reply. “I told you – you’re on my radar now,” she said with a shrug. “Were you feeding?”

He grudgingly nodded. “Yeah, I’m, uh, sticking to fresh squeezed venison shakes,” he joked.

Lydia gave a forced, nauseated smile and said with mock enthusiasm, “Yummy… Yay protein!”

He laughed, then asked hesitantly, “So… you can sense us? Peter and me? The same way that you…”

“Yup,” she confirmed with a nod.

Her eyes became glassy as she wiped her palms across her knees and nibbled her bottom lip. Stiles had come to recognize these little behaviors and more as Lydia’s banshee tells – signs that she was tapping into her powers.

Still looking dazed, she relayed, “I feel you both the same way I can feel any other supernatural death – but thankfully without any pesky hallucinations. It’s just a constant awareness. A kind of a… _pull_. It’s a hundred times stronger with you, though.”

“Huh,” Stiles sighed. “Well… that could certainly come in handy at some point…” He smiled to himself before declaring, “I guess this means that you, me, and Peter are like ‘ _Team Death_ ’ now, huh? Should we have t-shirts made?” he teased, then burst out laughing when she smacked him in the face with a pillow. “Hey! I am a very powerful supernatural being now, I’ll have you know! Where’s the respect?”

She scoffed and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Please. I could still squash you like a bug beneath my Manolo Blahniks if given a reason.”

Stiles grinned and gave her a crushing hug, exceedingly grateful that some things would never change.

“Hey… while you’re here, would you be interested in helping me design a piece of enchanted jewelry?” he asked, tilting his head to peer down at her.

Her eyes flashed with interest as she said, “You have my attention.” 

_______________________________________________

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** What do you think so far? Love it? Hate it? Favorite parts / lines? 

Remember - your comments = my writing motivation! :) <3 


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles and Lydia spent the majority of that morning brainstorming and came up with an additional 16 pages worth of notes for his ‘ _kill switch_ ’ necklace. (Although Lydia had rejected that name outright and expressly forbidden him from calling it that, so he was going to have to come up with a new name soon…)

After Lydia left, his Dad came home for the standard: eat, shower, sleep for 7 hours, wake, eat, dress, go back to work. The Sheriff was still playing catchup from their extended trip. As much as he wanted to keep hovering over Stiles, he had agreed with his son’s request to keep things as normal as possible.

Stiles lounged and watched reruns. He ate junk food – a feat which had taken a while to accomplish in those first days back at the cabin. Given the changes to his body, it was no longer designed to process food. He literally had to spell his digestive tract step by step to behave as if it were still alive. It took a great deal of work and concentration, but he knew he would need to perfect this skill in order to pass for human.

A few hours after sunset, Stiles was sitting in bed with his laptop, busily researching spells and lore surrounding Sparks, when he heard it. He fought to suppress a smile and made a manual correction to his scent and heartrate illusions – wanting them to remain unchanged for the moment to keep up the appearance of being unaware. But seriously? Being able to actually _hear_ Derek climbing up onto his roof and creeping up to his window was oddly adorable.

At the same time, it made him feel unexpectedly… depressed. He frowned to himself, grieving yet another loss. This whole stupid vampire thing was stealing the magic and mystery of receiving a surprise visit from his favorite werewolf. He sighed at that, shaking his head, and closing the tab in his browser to switch over to lore on merfolk.

A couple of minutes passed, and Stiles arched a brow. Just how long did Derek routinely sit out there on the roof listening to him before coming inside? Maybe he was waiting for some kind of a cue? Or maybe he was just waiting this time to see if Stiles did anything out of the ordinary?

Maybe Stiles would seem more approachable if he was not in bed? That seemed reasonable, Stiles decided. After all, a teenaged boy alone in his bed was a dangerous situation to sneak up on, lest a werewolf catch an eyeful of something deeply embarrassing for all parties involved.

Mind made up, Stiles decided to try and speed things along. He stood and put his laptop on his desk, rolling his neck and stretching, letting out a satisfied groan when his back popped.

And the pulse outside his window accelerated.

Stiles stood upright quickly, eyes widening in disbelief.

 _Had Derek just…?_ he wondered with a bewildered frown.

He quickly shook his head and dismissed the thought as ridiculous. It was a fluke, obviously. After all, why would Stiles stretching and groaning cause the Alpha’s pulse to race? No possible reason.

A minute passed and Derek still had not opened the window. Stiles huffed to himself and thought back to the werewolf’s favored times to pop in. Most of the time, Stiles realized, he found Derek waiting when he was walking _into_ his bedroom.

Nodding to himself, Stiles turned and went downstairs. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a soda purely for show, taking a few sips to ensure the sweet beverage would be present on his breath.

He smiled as he heard the window upstairs sliding open, the nearly imperceptible sound of Derek slipping into the room before carefully closing the window behind him.

Steadying his nerves, Stiles relaxed his manual control of his illusions and made a point to tromp his way up the stairs with his expected human lack of grace. He very much preferred to move this way, even if it did take a constant effort to maintain. He was nostalgic for his former twitchy, clumsy nature. He did not want to lose any more of himself than was strictly unavoidable.

Pushing his door open, he visibly flinched and startled upon finding Derek seated at his desk. “ _Jesus_ , dude. Can you _be_ any creepier?” he groused as expected, clutching his chest and closing his bedroom door behind him.

Derek merely arched a brow in reply.

“So… hey. What’s up?” Stiles asked awkwardly.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, eyes scanning Stiles suspiciously.

“Uh… right now? As in, at this exact moment?” Stiles asked wryly as he put his soda down on the corner of the desk. “I’m feeling… like I really need to invest in a motion alarm for that window.”

Derek’s lips twitched in that way that Stiles always figured meant he was laughing on the inside. The Alpha studied him for a moment longer before abruptly standing and backing Stiles across the room.

“ _Hey, hey_ , whoa, okay…” Stiles breathed anxiously, holding up his hands as his back was pressed against the door.

He did not even need to feign anxiousness now. For one, he was worried that his illusions would not hold up to Derek’s signature brand of intense scrutiny. But more than that, being in close proximity to Derek, especially when pressed up against a wall or door by the Alpha, always left him struggling to keep his body from betraying too much. He knew he never fully succeeded in those efforts in the past, but he had always at least _tried_ to mask his body’s interest in the unfairly hot werewolf. And now that he actually _could_ mask his interest, he had to resist the urge to do so.

“Oh, okay, so you’re just gonna…” Stiles stammered breathily as Derek brought his nose down to the nape of his neck. Stiles’ mouth dropped open slightly before he muttered in a strained voice, “Uh huh. Right. Yeah. No. This… this is totally normal.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes tightly. He clenched his fists at his sides and pressed them back against the wall to resist the temptation to grope Derek. He pressed the lower half of his body back as far as it could possibly go, knowing damned well that, here in a minute, his arousal would be impossible to hide. (And yeah, he checked – that particular area of his anatomy evidently still functioned _just fine_ without the aid of his Spark. Because, of course, freaky vampire magic would ensure that getting laid was still an option.)

Derek _slowly_ dragged his nose up to Stiles’ pulse point.

Stiles gave a full body shudder as he let out a tremulous breath. It was on the inhale that he knew he was in deep trouble.

The scent of Derek was spiking unexpectedly, shifting to something Stiles could not yet understand. Indecipherable as it was to him, the change was still terribly and undeniably enticing… Stronger… Hotter. Derek had smelled like the forest after a storm before. Now, that forest was _ablaze_.

Stiles’ lips parted and nostrils flared. On instinct, he turned toward Derek, seeking out more of the intoxicating scent. A tremor ran through him and he froze.

 _Oh no_ …

He could feel his control slipping, could feel the illusory beating of his heart hammering inside his chest. Reaching up, he gripped Derek’s bicep in case he would need to shove the werewolf away for his own safety.

Stiles’ eyes shifted to black involuntarily and – despite squeezing them shut to keep the change hidden – the full force of his vampiric senses was unleashed. Stiles’ body trembled with longing as his senses were overwhelmed with all things _Derek_. He let out a whisper of a moan.

Derek rumbled deeply in his chest, which sounded an awful lot like approval to Stiles, and began taking long, greedy, open-mouthed inhalations of Stiles’ scent.

 _Hooooooooooly fuck, he’s **tasting** me_, Stiles realized in astonishment. His new vampiric instincts found this revelation incredibly intriguing. His entire body thrummed with the desire to return the favor. His eyes rolled beneath their lids as he listened to the increasingly frenzied beating of the Alpha’s heart. He could feel the delicious heat of his blood beneath his skin, feel it pumping through his veins so invitingly. His lips curled back, and gums itched with the need to drop his fangs. Frantically, he pressed his mouth shut tight, holding back fangs and a groan.

Derek gave another deep rumble – evidently Stiles had passed inspection – then took a (slightly unsteady) step back. 

“Feeling better today?” Derek asked, voice notably rough.

Stiles remained in place for several seconds while he struggled to get himself under control. When he finally felt confident enough to open his eyes, his brows drew together at the sight that greeted him. Derek’s eyelids were suspiciously heavy and there was a very definite dazed look in his eyes.

 _Damn,_ Stiles thought to himself in amusement, _do I really smell that good, big guy?_ He tried not to feel too smug about the fact that the Alpha had been similarly affected by the intimate contact.

Stiles cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck before answering a bit shakily, “Yeah. Uh. Still settling back in, you know.”

Derek nodded, blinked, and turned to take a seat. He looked like he was initially heading over to sit at the end of Stiles’ bed, but at the last minute, returned to the relative safety of the desk chair.

A silence settled over them. Not uncomfortable, but tense and charged in an all-new way.

And now that Stiles was able to think a bit clearer, he realized he had a fairly good idea what that hot, new, enticing scent coming off of Derek had been…

Oh shit.

Stiles flinched back from the implications, unwilling to even acknowledge the possibility of… any of that. He was freaking _dead_ , after all. Or… _un_ dead. Or something. _Whatever_. The point was, even if Derek were to ever be interested in him ( _highly_ unlikely), Stiles would never be able to let anything happen. Derek had a long line of spectacularly shitty exes – that was undeniable, but even they had never made the poor guy an unwitting necrophiliac. So, yeah. Stiles would absolutely need to keep things the way they had always been between them.

And why was he even thinking about this anyway? It’s not like there was any chance at all of it ever coming up. He could never let it. Not with Derek or anyone else. Stiles was only around to help the pack. To make sure his Dad would not be alone. To fight the good fight. There was no reason to even contemplate anything of a sexual or romantic nature.

With anyone.

Ever again.

For the rest of his bleak, lonely, sexless, loveless existence.

 _Wow_.

That… that really freaking sucked.

Sighing to himself at the disappointing and depressing path his thoughts had taken, he grabbed his laptop and heavily sank back onto his bed.

“So, what brings you?” Stiles asked, keeping his eyes off of the Alpha at all costs. 

Derek shrugged and turned the chair back to face the desk, thankful for a bit of distance between them after that unexpectedly intense scenting. _God_ , if he had been worried that Stiles’ scent had been unaffected in his presence before, that was most _definitely_ no longer a problem. It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Derek to talk his wolf out of just claiming Stiles right then and there.

“Just checking in…” Derek answered. “You seemed off last night. Wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, man. I’m good. Same old, same old,” Stiles muttered, focusing on the screen before him as intently as possible.

Derek hummed in response, blinking to clear his thoughts as his eyes passed over stacks of printed out pages on Stiles’ desk. A book report for English class. Notes for Econ. Internet searches on a wide variety of subjects – from spell ingredients to mystical artifacts and supernatural creatures.

Lifting a page for closer inspection, Derek studied the rudimentary sketch it contained – black lines in the basic shape of a wolf’s head. It was not bad for a framework. Could use a bit of improvement… Without thought, he picked up a pencil and started another sketch on a separate blank sheet, enhancing the lines from the original sketch and giving the creature nobler features and intelligent eyes, wanting to convey not only its intimidating nature, but also its softer side. He smiled down at the image as he worked. _It reminded him of his mother_ … He followed that train of thought, making little corrections here and there, layering on details until it matched his memories of her. As an afterthought, he added the triskele across the wolf’s brow.

“You draw?” Stiles asked, startling Derek out of his thoughts.

Derek looked up in surprise to find the teen standing directly beside him. He blinked and glanced back to the bed with his brow furrowed. _He had not even heard Stiles move_. “Uh… yeah. Haven’t in a long time but…” he shrugged, not wanting to get into it further. Too many memories there – both bad and good. Each painful in its own way.

Stiles nodded, knowing better than to press when Derek got that particular haunted look in his eyes. He picked up the paper, smiling in appreciation. “Man, you’re _really_ good, Der. I like your version way better than mine. Mind if I use this?”

Derek looked up at him curiously. “For what?”

Stiles bit his lips and winced. “Oh, just uh… for a project… I’m working on.”

“If it’s homework, leave the triskele off. That’s a Hale family symbol,” Derek said sternly. After a beat, he asked in a more relaxed tone, “What’s it for? Art class or something?” 

“It’s… actually not for school,” Stiles said, keeping his eyes trained on the paper and hoping Derek would not press for more information. “More of a… personal thing.”

Derek’s brows drew together as he studied Stiles appraisingly. He could tell that whatever it was, Stiles did not want to talk about it. After a moment, he said, “If it’s for _you_ … the triskele can stay.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at that indirect declaration of his status. Before he could comment, or even stammer trying to find something to say in response, Derek got to his feet.

“Glad you’re feeling better. Pack meeting tomorrow night. Don’t miss it,” Derek said, climbing back out the window with the practiced ease of a werewolf who had done it countless times before.

“Night, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a smile as he closed the window a minute later.

“ _Good Night, Stiles_ ,” Derek answered quietly from the backyard, sounding far fonder than Stiles knew he would have if the wolf thought he could be heard.


	8. Chapter 8

Today was supposed to be about training. Just an easy day of sparring and Derek putting his Betas’ tracking skills to the test.

It was early morning when Derek and the other wolves of the pack arrived at the Preserve. They had barely climbed from their vehicles before Lydia’s car was skidding into the empty spot beside the Camaro.

Stiles all-but fell out her passenger side door as he called out that his self-proclaimed ‘ _Stiles-y senses_ ’ were tingling and offered the ominous prediction that, “ _Something hungry this way comes, dude_.”

With a sigh, Derek had grudgingly motioned for the teen to follow along as they set out into the woods. Lydia announced that she would wait in the car.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, Derek listened as Stiles rattled off items that concerned him, holding up a long finger for each suspicious item he listed. There had been an alarming and drastic increase in missing pets in the area. A few inexplicably picked-clean carcasses were found out in the preserve by hikers. And, of course, a few hikers had disappeared from the trails the night prior.

“Something bad is out here, Der. And I know it sounds paper thin, but you’ve just gotta trust me on this, okay?” Stiles said, nibbling anxiously on his bottom lip as he gazed up at him, eyes narrowed as he willed Derek to believe him.

Pursing his lips in his typical scowl, Derek eventually sighed and nodded. It did seem like a stretch, but he had to admit that Stiles had yet to steer them wrong with his gut instincts.

“Okay. We’ll look into it,” Derek agreed. “You swing by the station and see what else you can find out. We’ll check around out here – see if we can catch any new scents.”

“Oh. Uh… or I could… stay… you know… to help you guys,” Stiles tried hopefully.

Derek arched a brow and gave him a disapproving look. “You just told me you think there’s something out here eating animals and possibly people. So, you? Are NOT staying to help us look for it.”

Stiles let out a put-upon sigh as he began, “Look, while I do appreciate the acknowledgement that I, Stiles Stilinski, am an absolute _snack_ …”

Several laughs and snorts of amusement came from the pack in reply.

Derek held up a hand and shook his head. “Save it, Stiles. I’m not risking it. Now, go,” he ordered, pointing in the direction of the parking lot with a determined scowl. “Get back to Lydia's car and both of you get out of here. And tell Kira and Danny to stay away from the Preserve until I say otherwise. I don’t want anyone out here alone until we know for sure what’s going on.” Turning his attention to the rest of the pack, he announced, “We’ll split up into pairs, but stay within hearing range of one another at all times.”

He listened as Stiles grumbled in frustration and headed out.

With a frown, Derek nodded over to Cora and Peter before instructing, “You two make sure he gets out of here safely.”

Peter inclined his head and followed Stiles.

“You got it,” Cora said with a grin before she raced over and linked arms with her unwilling charge.

“I can make it back to the car by myself you know, _worry wolf!”_ Stiles shouted back over his shoulder.

 _"Of course you can,"_ Cora said in a faux supportive tone whilst patting him on the head like a child.

Stiles scowled at her in reply. 

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes before they split up to start the search – Ethan with him, Malia with Scott, and Cora would stay with Peter once they returned.

They set out further into the Preserve and it was less than five minutes later before all hell broke loose.

The very first whiff of fetid stench had barely reached his nose before a swarm of twisted, imp-like creatures were crawling up from under the soil.

Even by Beacon Hills standards, this… was bizarre.

Derek’s eyes widened in alarm. Just as quickly, he was shifting and roaring out a warning to the pack. He was instantly drawn into a surprisingly intense battle, Ethan by his side as they fought off the snapping, snarling little beasts. He narrowly dodged as a mouthful of rotten, jagged teeth nearly took a chunk out of his leg, coming dangerously close to his artery. Ripping the creature’s head clean from its shoulders, his heart raced at the thought of what these things could do to his pack with them spread out.

They were completely unprepared for this… Whatever the fuck _this_ even was. He had no idea what the hell they were up against. As his eyes scanned the surrounding hills, he saw more and more of the wretched, little monsters crawling up from the ground. He could hear Malia’s easily recognizable roar as she and Scott fought off their attackers. He could not hear anything from Peter or Cora yet. They needed to regroup and face the enemy together – strength in numbers.

“Get to the cars!” Derek bellowed around fangs before tearing apart the creature closest to him. “GO! NOW!” he roared, sending an increased sense of urgency through his bonds to his Betas.

His heart thundered in his ears and he strained all of his senses to track the others. He could hear them taking off in the direction of the parking lot in response to his order.

“ _CORA, NO!”_ he heard Stiles shout up ahead in the distance just before his sister let out a howl of pain.

Suddenly, a piercing, furious _screech_ echoed through the forest. It was a layered, high pitched, and deadly sound, like the scream of some nightmarish bird of prey diving in for the kill – deafening enough to cause all of the weres and creatures to stumble and cry out in pain.

Derek recovered and was instantly running as fast as his legs would carry him. Trees whipped by in a blur and he could barely breathe past his panic. Part of him was terrified that Lydia might have just screamed for his sister or Stiles. But that _sound_ … That frightening sound had definitely not been a banshee wail. It was unmistakably the battle cry of some sort of supernatural creature. It was violent and fierce – an audible expression of fury over some grievous offense. It had sent a chill of instinctual fear through the Alpha, turning his blood to ice in his veins. And yet somehow, it felt… confusingly familiar? As if he should recognize its source? As if its source was an undeniably deadly threat, but not a threat to _him?_

He could hear the assault happening now, just up ahead, still out of sight.

Snarling and growling…

A woman’s pained, startled cry… Not Cora, though… _Definitely not Cora_ …

The unmistakable sounds of tearing flesh and splash of arterial spray…

The gurgle of someone struggling to take their final breaths through blood…

Another shrill, inhuman screech…

Silence.

“ _Please_ …” Derek begged on a tremulous exhale just before he made it over the hilltop, tensing for whatever he was about to find. He did not slow his approach as his eyes rapidly took in the scene.

Cora was on the ground unmoving, the side of her head bloody…

Peter was a few feet away, rigid and staring straight at…

 _Stiles_ … standing jarringly still with his back to Derek, staring down at the crumpled, bloodied, mangled body of a strange woman at his feet. He did not turn at the commotion of Scott, Malia, and Ethan arriving, either.

Under the strong scent of blood, the air smelled peculiar. But, again, puzzlingly familiar. Like a heavy, overwhelming version of something Derek knew but could not place. _Magic_ , he finally realized. Like an odd blend of ozone and spice. 

“What happened? Is she –?” Derek asked as he slid to his knees beside his fallen sister. He nearly wept in relief when she groaned and gripped her head. “ _Hey_. Cora, can you hear me?” 

“Stiles… What –?” Cora breathed in alarm as she tried to open her eyes.

“Easy. Easy, you’re okay,” Derek soothed, holding her by the shoulders and urging her to stay still.

Her eyes flew open as she called out frantically, “ _STILES?!_ Oh, God, is he –? She was –! Where –?”

“Here. I’m right here, Cor. All good,” Stiles answered as he stepped up behind Derek.

Derek let out a shaky breath at the familiar feeling of Stiles standing at his back, whole and unharmed. He swallowed down the residual fear that had gripped him for the teen’s safety.

“Oh my God, Stiles! How –?” Cora gasped, tears springing to her eyes as she gaped up at him. “How are you even –? She was gonna –!” she tried, eyes wide and stunned as they flitted over Stiles’ body seeking evidence of a mortal wound.

“She didn’t,” Stiles answered firmly. “She’s dead and all the freaky, bite-y, goblin minions she had conjured up went ‘poof!’ as soon as she bit the dust. Everything’s okay.”

Derek arched a brow as his senses confirmed Stiles’ assertion. The swarm of horrid creatures had vanished as quickly as it came.

“But… But you were –!” Cora insisted, shaking her head and wincing at the pain it caused.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles declared with finality. “The wicked witch, on the other hand, is very, very dead.” His eyes went to Peter as he said purposefully, “Good job with that by the way, Zombie Wolf. Excellent slice and dice technique.”

Peter fought back a smirk and nodded. “I agree, Stiles. The technique was _quite_ impressive.”

A look of amusement passed between the two, as if they were sharing an inside joke.

Derek watched them over his shoulder, brow furrowed as he tried to decipher what was being left unsaid. He took in Stiles’ appearance and frowned deeply. The teen was positively _drenched_ in blood but did not even seem to notice. It was even on his face – everything from his cheeks down soaked. Derek looked over to Peter and found that his Uncle’s clothes were surprisingly clean.

Peter noted his suspicious gaze and offered, “I caught her from behind and tore out her throat while Stiles was standing directly in front of her. It would probably be wise for someone to help him get cleaned up before he –”

Stiles looked down at his clothes at that point and instantly started flailing and carrying on.

Peter rolled his eyes before stepping forward and catching Stiles’ elbow. “Come on,” he sighed. “There’s a stream back this way. You can at least rinse off the worst of the viscera before climbing into any of the vehicles.”

Derek watched them go, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Something was definitely off. And since when were Stiles and Peter so close? Close enough that he was going to help Stiles get _washed off?_ An involuntary growl of displeasure rumbled in his throat. His jaw flexed and he scowled as he fought to ignore the distinctly green emotion coiling in his gut.

When he looked down at his sister, she gave him a knowing smile, but it did not reach her eyes.

His features softened as he asked, “How do you feel?” Carefully, he checked to make sure the wound on her head was healing.

“I’m fine… I just… I don’t understand…” She looked over in the direction Stiles had gone. “That bitch was reaching out to kill him, Der,” she whispered worriedly. “There was _no way_ he was going to survive.”

Derek’s brows drew together, head tilting to the side as he noted her certainty.

Cora bit her lip as she recalled, “I couldn’t get to them in time before she used her power to throw me into a tree. And Peter was _behind me_ – even further away from them than I was,” she stressed. “I just can’t understand how Stiles is still alive to tell the tale.”

“It’s Stiles,” Malia offered with a shrug, as if that were all the explanation needed.

Derek had to admit that it sort of was. The number of times Stiles had narrowly avoided death since stumbling into the supernatural world was inexplicable.

Ethan chimed in with, “Yeah, you know how Stiles is. He probably ran his mouth to keep her focused on him so Peter could sneak up on her. He’s done it plenty of times.”

“This is true,” Lydia called as she approached, carefully picking her way down the hill over fallen leaves and branches. “Stiles was born with a near preternatural gift of gab, after all. So… I take it I missed a party out here?”

Derek looked up at her thoughtfully as she made her way over to the group. “That scream… that wasn’t you, right?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Lydia arched a brow and shook her head before answering simply, “Not me.”

“So that was… her?” Malia asked, motioning over to the body.

“Must’ve been,” Ethan answered.

Derek kept his concerns to himself about the disconcertingly familiar quality of the unidentified sound.

Scott got that confused puppy expression as he said, “So… if Lydia didn’t scream… no one was in real imminent danger of dying.”

“But Stiles _was_. Stiles almost died,” Cora insisted as Derek helped her up onto her feet.

“Yeah, well, the all-knowing voices of the veil buzzing around inside Lydia’s skull apparently disagree,” Ethan said dismissively.

“If the outcome was already set, Lydia wouldn’t scream,” Derek offered as a possible explanation in hopes of calming his sister. “It just means that, however Stiles survived, it was supposed to happen.”

Cora frowned and gritted her teeth, clearly unconvinced but deciding to keep her skepticism to herself.

“Jesus… Peter really got carried away with this one, huh?” Ethan commented with a curled lip as he inspected the corpse, using the end of his boot to lift it off the ground a bit. Getting a better look at the shredded remnants of the throat, shoulder, and chest, he exhaled sharply in astonishment and gawked. “ _Fuck!_ How did he even…? It looks like she got fed through a woodchipper!”

“She threatened pack.” Malia reminded coldly, not even sparing the body a second glance. “She got what she deserved.”

“Well said, my girl,” Peter praised as he and Stiles approached.

Stiles was soaked to the bone – hair, skin, and clothes dripping wet, but notably clear of any blood.

Derek’s lips parted a fraction of a second before he forcefully averted his eyes, determinedly not taking the opportunity to survey how the soaked fabric was clinging to every inch of Stiles’ lithe body. Nope. Did not notice that at all. _Oh, would you look at that interesting leaf down there on the ground_ …

“What should we do with… this?” Ethan asked curiously as he jutted his chin toward the body.

Stiles answered calmly. “Cut out her heart. Cut her body into 6 pieces – specifically by removing the limbs and head from the torso. Dig a hole. Ring it with salt. Toss all her parts in there and burn her. Thoroughly. When there’s nothing left but bones, salt it all down and bury it.”

Every head slowly swiveled back to him in surprise.

Derek winced as he looked over at the soggy teen. _Shit_. He narrowed his eyes, using every ounce of his willpower to keep them firmly locked on Stiles’ face.

“ _Dude_ ,” Scott said to his best friend with a deep frown, obviously nauseated by Stiles’ words.

Stiles sputtered defensively. “What? It’s not like I suggested it as a fun bonding activity for the pack! I’m just saying, based on how she looked and what she could do, she was definitely a forest hag. And I’ve read a shit ton about hags and that is the only way to keep a powerful one down.” He flailed his hand in the general direction of the body and huffed, “She’s already _dead,_ Scott. Forgive me for not standing around, clutching pearls over what it’ll take to keep her that way. I don’t know about any of you guys, but I personally would like to avoid a repeat of this rather gory and violent encounter if she ever… you know… pops back up.” He curled his lip as he motioned over at her remains again. Noting the way Ethan was still surveying it, he chided wearily, “Ethan, stop _poking it_ , dude. You’re never gonna get that stink off your boots.”

Ethan laughed and nodded that it was true. “Seriously. I’m gonna have to burn them, too.”

“Well,” Peter sighed. “I guess that answers the question of how I will be spending my morning. Does anyone happen to have any salt handy?”

“In my trunk,” Lydia answered and held up her keys. “Several unopened containers, in fact. I figured they might come in handy someday.”

Stiles grinned and teased, “Ever the practical one.”

The banshee gave a coquettish smile and playful flutter of eyelashes in reply.

The Alpha did _not_ scowl at their flirtatious exchange and you can’t prove otherwise.

“There’s a full can of gas in the bed of my truck,” Ethan offered.

Derek held up his zippo to show that they had all of the necessary items.

“Excellent,” Peter said as he popped his claws and stood over the body, tilting his head as he laid out the best approach. “Now, if someone would be so kind as to escort Stiles and Lydia to her car and retrieve the salt and gas, I will get to work cutting this into more manageable portions…”

Scott looked decidedly ill as he turned to Stiles and said eagerly, “I’ll walk out with you guys.”

Peter huffed before muttering under his breath for the hundredth time, “ _Definitely bit the wrong one_.”

Lydia, Stiles, and Scott set out together and Derek turned to watch them leave.

_(He was watching all three of them. Definitely not specifically watching Stiles in his soaking wet skinny jeans and drenched t-shirt that was clinging to his surprisingly broad shoulders and toned back and when the hell had Stiles gotten so cut???!!!)_

Derek was drawn out of his intense definitely-not-staring a few seconds later when Peter – the self-proclaimed ‘recovered lunatic’ – began whistling a disturbingly cheerful tune while dissecting the body.

Derek sighed heavily and rolled his eyes closed.

“I was in the Alpha pack for two years, Derek. Believe me when I say: I have seen some shit.” Ethan reminded before declaring deadpan, “But your Uncle _still_ creeps me the fuck out.”

Peter chuckled at that and continued happily whistling while he worked.


	9. Chapter 9

Peter opened the ornate double doors and smiled out at the pair stepping off the mirrored elevator into the private vestibule. “Stiles. Lydia. Good of you to finally join me.”

Stiles scoffed. “Dude. Scott and Derek think I nearly died. _Again_ ,” he reminded with wide eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to slip away without a furry escort right now? That hag earned me at _least_ a month of paranoid pack babysitting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s more than a fair exchange. I’m glad I sensed her funky ass magic and managed to get out there in time to kill her, but damn – they want me on lockdown now. Plus, I swear I can still taste the nasty bitch.”

He grimaced at the memory of losing control, surrendering to his vampiric instincts… _The enraged, inhuman screech that had poured from him before he attacked… Sinking into her with fangs and talons… The putrid flavor of her tainted blood gushing into his mouth as he viciously ripped her apart_ … But it had been worth it. After all, she had Hurt. Derek’s. Sister. Nuh-uh. Not on Stiles’ watch now that he could actually do something about it. And, oh, the stunned look on that hag’s face when he dropped his illusions and lunged for her? *Chef’s kiss* Priceless. Dishing out retaliatory carnage on behalf of the littlest Hale had totally been worth nearly outing himself. Speaking of which…

“Oh, and then there’s the fact that Cora has been staring me down for the past week with those signature _Hale Brows of Suspicion_ , still trying to work out exactly how I walked away from it unscathed. Mark my words, she is probably in my bedroom right now, sniffing around and rifling through my stuff.” He tilted his head, eyes going out of focus as he mused, “She’ll probably run into her brother while she’s there. It can be like a little bonding experience for them – invading Stiles’ personal space together. Maybe I should just give up and put a doggy door in place of my window.” In an instant he was grinning at his own idea. “Oh my _God_ , that is brilliant! I should so totally put a doggy door in place of my window!”

He pulled out his notebook, because apparently this idea needed to be written down immediately. Lydia sighed and caught him by the elbow, tugged him along to head inside. Peter closed the doors behind them.

When Stiles finished writing and looked up, he let out an impressed whistle at the sprawling interior of the ritzy hotel suite. He walked over to the far wall comprised entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows and marveled at the sunset view. He put his hand on the cool glass, captivated by the sun as he always was these days. It represented something that was no longer meant for him, something that he should pause and be thankful for, lest he forget. It reminded him to appreciate what he had and not ask for more.

He drew a steadying breath before joking over his shoulder, “Jesus, Peter… I know I complained about us meeting up in random forest clearings, but THIS? This is gonna look _so many shades of shady_ if anyone ever finds out we met up here.”

“Understatement,” Lydia agreed as she took a seat on one of the luxurious couches and hefted an aged, leather-bound tome out of her oversized purse.

Peter huffed in feigned exasperation, putting his hands on his hips. “ _So_ high maintenance, Stiles. No isolated woodland settings. No five-star accommodations. There really is just no pleasing you. I do hope my nephew knows what he is getting himself into.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he held up a finger as he spun to face him. “Hey! Off-limits, remember?” he warned, pointing over at the werewolf with a scowl. He crossed the room and dropped down onto the couch beside Lydia, busying himself with pulling papers and notebooks from his backpack and loading them onto the coffee table as he grumbled, “We do not touch that particular topic with a ten-foot pole.”

Lydia hummed in feigned disinterest, not bothering to look up from the book in her lap as she flipped the page and commented, “I’m sure Derek wouldn’t be opposed to you engaging in a bit of _pole touching_ with him.”

While Stiles squawked and stammered trying to come up with a reply, Peter freaking guffawed. GUFFAWED, I tell you.

Stiles’ jaw dropped open in disbelief, his eyes going back and forth between the other two before he flailed. “No! Absolutely not! You two are not allowed to team up on me!”

“Fine,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over at Peter purposefully before arching a mischievous brow and teasing, “Although… if a certain Alpha were ever under the impression that Peter and I were _…_ ‘teaming up on you’ during clandestine meetings in an upscale hotel room… why I’m sure that would just bring all those territorial instincts right to the surface, wouldn’t it?”

Stiles let out a strangled sound of horrified condemnation.

Peter clicked his tongue in feigned disapproval and gave her a scandalized look. “ _Lydia_ … that is _quite_ a dangerous game to be proposing. Very underhanded.” He pursed his lips as if taking it into consideration before nodding and adding with an appropriately wolfish grin, “I approve.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned before gripping his head with both hands. “This was the single worst idea I have ever had. I never should have asked you two evil geniuses to collaborate.”

Peter scoffed and waved off Stiles’ comment, taking a seat on the opposite couch and reaching out to pick up a curious sheet of paper from the stack. His brows drew together the instant his eyes fell on the sketch. “Derek drew this,” he stated with certainty before giving Stiles an appraising look. “Did he actually give this to you?”

“Uh… yeah,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his head.

He was flustered at having to recall the night of ‘ _The Scenting_ ’ – as he had taken to calling it in his head. And yes, capitalization was oh so necessary for that event. It had been a few weeks ago and the memory still caused his artificial pulse to race. Thankfully, there had been no repeat incidents and Stiles had mercifully avoided being in Derek’s personal space ever since.

Blinking in an attempt to focus on the present, Stiles said, “He, uh… stopped by and saw one of the concepts I had drawn up for the necklace design, and then he drastically improved upon it. I asked if I could use it for a personal project. Didn’t tell him what it’s for, though.”

“I see…” Peter gave him a knowing smirk and asked, “And what did he say?”

“He was cool with it,” Stiles answered simply with a shrug, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact.

“Was he now? And what did he say – specifically – about your using the _triskele_?” Peter pressed, his smirk growing into an outright grin.

Stiles glared at the smug bastard before grumbling, “Leave it alone, asshole.”

“Hmm… as you wish,” Peter agreed all too easily. Pretending to be busy studying the sketch, he asked, “Were you aware that this is the likeness of Talia herself?”

Stiles looked up at him in astonishment.

Lydia exhaled sharply, fully aware of the importance of that.

Peter nodded and tilted his head, looking down at the paper as he went on casually, “Yes, Derek sat in your bedroom and felt so at ease and at home with you that he sketched for the first time in nearly a decade – a favored pastime of his before the fire, I might add. He created this perfect portrait of his own beloved, dearly missed mother – of whom he rarely ever speaks. He crowned her with our family emblem. And then he granted _you_ his express permission to keep and use the image for yourself without even knowing exactly what it was for.” He looked back at Stiles, plastering on a sarcastic smile and saying, “But I am sure there is no significance to that, whatsoever.”

Stiles stood and (very cautiously) retrieved the paper from Peter, frowning to himself as he placed it back on the table (with a near reverential level of care.)

“Did you get the materials?” Stiles asked as he idly smoothed out the page, not wanting to even consider the weight of Peter’s revelation.

Peter allowed the change of subject and scoffed at the notion that he might have failed to acquire the requested items. He crossed the space and retrieved a cloth bag.

“My dear boy, you will have to get far more inventive if you wish to challenge my procurement skills.” He rested the bag on the coffee table in front of the young Spark with a flourish. “Obsidian, gold, and iron – as requested. Purified and ready to be shaped as you see fit,” he confirmed. “Have you finalized the enchantments you intend to use?”

Stiles nodded and flipped through his scribbled notes. “Yeah, it’s gonna take most of the night. I need to apply them all in the right order, or none of them will work properly.” He was already getting that faraway look in his eyes, his mind busily laying out every step he would take in great detail.

“In that case, I am ordering us room service,” Peter announced before wandering off into the massive suite. 

“ _Stiles_ …” Lydia breathed once they were sitting alone, still in shock over the sketch.

“Nope,” Stiles warned, determinedly keeping his eyes on his notes. “Absolutely not going there. Drop it.”

Lydia studied him with a frown for a moment before asking, “But… you realize what it means, don’t you?”

Stiles gritted his teeth and repressed, repressed, _repressed_. He took a shaky breath, his hold on his emotions down to the last tenuous thread. “It _means_ that I clearly need to establish better boundaries and distance myself from him from now on. Just… please stop.”

Lydia tipped her head and gave him a sympathetic look. “You’ve been pining over him for nearly two years. Why not see if –?”

And with that, Stiles finally lost it.

“Because I’m fucking _DEAD!_ ” he roared furiously as he leapt to his feet and flipped the coffee table over.

Lydia barely flinched at the outburst, as if she had expected it to happen at some point. She merely sat still and waited.

Stiles gripped his hair with both trembling hands. He immediately regretted raising his voice at her and acting out, but there was no going back now. The floodgates were opened and there was no hope of shutting up any time soon.

“That’s ‘ _why not!’_ That’s why you can’t play matchmaker! I am dead as a doornail. Okay? Do you get that? There’s not going to be any _dating_ in my future. There is _never_ _going to be_ a happily ever after for me! I _died._ You _saw_ it. I have no _pulse_ , Lydia. There is no way to unring that bell. I’m deceased. How are you struggling with this? Do I really have to clarify it further for you?

“I’m living out _The Curse of the Sad Mummy_ over here and I am freaking _Amumu_. I’m the titular character in a shitty, low-budget remake of _Weekend at Bernie’s_ , only I’m the one dragging my own pitiful corpse around. I’m the dead _motherfucking_ parrot from that Monty Python skit – as in I am ‘ _no more_ ,’ have ‘ _ceased to be_ ,’ and am ‘ _bereft of life_.’

“And this?” He sneered and motioned to himself contemptuously. “ _This?_ What everyone else sees? _This_ is not _REAL_. It’s just a happy little fucking _LIE_ that I’m telling everyone to shield them from the truth. From _my_ truth. From _my_ nightmare. From the sad, sorry reality of the rest of my pathetic existence.”

He laughed manically through tears as he said, “And _God!_ I used to think that – if, by some miracle, Derek was even interested in guys – the biggest hurdle in getting with him – after, of course, him needing to lose both his eyesight _and_ his memory before he would ever consider me as a potential anything – would be the age difference. But NO. _This shit_ had to happen. And now? _NOW?”_ He tugged at his hair again, blown away by this point in particular. “Like the giant, juicy cherry on top of my shitty life sundae, against all laws of probability, Derek _werewolfy-God-amongst-men_ Hale actually seems to be – holy _shit!_ – taking even the slightest bit of an interest in me – in me? _IN ME?_ ” he cried in abject disbelief. “Well, guess what?” He clapped in time with the next three words for emphasis. “ _Too. Fucking. Bad!_ Because it’s too late now! Because I’m the punchline of some cruel cosmic joke! I am _living dead_ _boy_ over here! And I cannot, _will not_ have Derek unknowingly participating in a little ‘ _light necrophilia’_ just because I got my sad little heart set on something that was _clearly_ never meant for me!”

Chest heaving, Stiles gradually came back to his senses feeling horribly raw and exposed. He groaned and covered his face with both hands, utterly disappointed in himself. This had been his first emotional outburst since dying. He had been doing so well with keeping it all inside. He wished he could pluck all of his words right out of the air, just stuff them all back down his throat where they belonged and hide them again.

He dropped down heavily onto the couch and ran a hand over his face roughly in defeat. He could feel his eyes swirling to black under the strain of the tidal wave of anger and grief he was still trying so hard to ignore. He blinked to force it back, feeling his eyes return to their natural amber color.

With a bitter laugh, he muttered glumly, “I’m just a walking cadaver with deeply disturbing dietary needs now, Lyds. Don’t you think, after everything he’s been through, Derek deserves better than that?”

Lydia opened her mouth to reply but was cut off before she got the chance.

“My… _God_ …” Peter groaned dramatically as he returned with the room service menu in hand.

Stiles threw his hands in the air that he was going to have to deal with this from both of them now.

Peter came to a stop on the other side of the upended coffee table and crossed his arms over his plunging-V-neck-framed chest. With a look of supreme disapproval he said, “And here I always assumed that I would one day have to listen to _Derek_ brooding and talking himself out of pursuing you, whining endlessly about how _he_ wasn’t good enough, and taking out _his_ frustrations on innocent pieces of furniture. I must say, this is a rather unexpected and disappointing role reversal.”

“Oh, screw you, pseudo-zombie,” Stiles groused miserably. “Not everyone can come back from the dead without any corpse-y side effects. I think I’ve earned the right to feel like shit about this situation.” With a shaking hand, he reached down and retrieved the sketch from the mess he had made. It was thankfully still intact, and he took a moment to needlessly smooth it out before setting it on the arm of the couch.

Lydia sighed and exchanged a look with Peter, the unlikely pair united in their desire to find something to say to help Stiles through this.

Exhaling sharply, Peter narrowed his eyes on Stiles. He pursed his lips as he took his next words into consideration. “Okay, fine. Tell me this,” he began in a lighter tone, letting his arms drop and expression relax to that of only _mild_ judgment. “Say none of this had ever happened… Say you were still purely human, and you and Derek each got over your respective emotional baggage and gratuitous self-esteem issues and successfully ended up together…” He held up his hands for dramatic effect before reminding, “Derek can turn into a wolf now.” Clasping his hands together, he asked purposefully, “Would it classify, then, as bestiality if you were to sleep with him?”

“Dude, what the f–?” Stiles recoiled. _“NO!_ I mean it’s not like I’d be banging him while he was in furry form. What the hell kind of question is that?”

“As much as it pains me to admit this,” Lydia sighed before nodding and grudgingly granting, “it was an extremely relevant one.”

Peter inclined his head to her appreciatively for the acknowledgement.

Lydia turned toward Stiles as she declared resolutely, “I was wrong before.”

Stiles flung himself back and gripped the couch in feigned astonishment as he gasped, “Stop the presses!”

“Shut up and listen for once,” she huffed with a roll of her eyes. “I really mean it,” she said sincerely. “I was wrong before when I said that I could see the ‘real you’ under your magic. At the time, I was focusing on the part of you that is linked to _my_ powers – the part that _I_ see most clearly. I was wrong because I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Stiles, you are not _just_ a vampire. You are _also_ a Spark. It’s the reason you’re able to exist beyond mindlessly feeding. It’s the reason you’ve been able to retain your humanity. It is arguably the most important part of you, and you are completely dismissing its value. Do you feel different when you fully give in to your vampiric side? When you let your Spark take a backseat, so to speak?”

Stiles frowned and reluctantly nodded.

Lydia pressed her lips together, studying him for a moment before saying, “I think it would help for you to start looking at it like this: When you are covered in and fully embracing the gifts of your magic, that is your _Spark_ _shift_. When you ‘vamp out’, that is your _vampire_ _shift_. They are two separate forms. Just like Derek as a man and Derek as a wolf. The two sides are equally real and valid, but distinct. And just like Derek can choose when to use his fangs and claws, and when to allow his features to change, you can do the same – partial shifts that incorporate different aspects of the two. You need to stop telling yourself that this version of you is not real. Your magic _is_ real. You need to start giving it the appropriate level of respect.”

Stiles sat in silence for a moment, considering her words. Finally, he looked over at her, eyes wet with unshed tears as he said firmly, “I’m not ready to talk about this any further.”

Lydia nodded. “All I ask is that you take our words into consideration while you work things out.” She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a hug.

Stiles’ lips trembled with the urge to cry, but he clenched his jaw and held it all in. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he whispered.

Lydia huffed and waved her hand to say it was already forgotten. “Remember how I said I was wrong about that one thing that day?” she asked as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Hard to forget such a momentous event,” he teased hoarsely.

She laughed and smiled against his shirt as she poked him in the ribs. “Well, I was also indisputably correct about the other stuff. Remember when I said, ‘ _you helped, supported, and comforted us as we stumbled our way through our new existences. Even when we didn’t appreciate your efforts. Even when we made it hard to stick with us. You loved us at our most unlovable. And we will do the exact same for you now_ ’?”

Stiles fought to swallow past the lump in his throat and nodded.

“I really meant that,” she said softly. “We’re here. And the more people who find out, the more people you’ll have to help you. You’re not alone. Okay?”

He exhaled choppily. It took a moment for him to get his emotions under control enough to nod and whisper, “Okay.”

Peter reached down and put his hand on the back of Stiles neck, giving him a squeeze of support.

Stiles glanced up at the wolf, nodding lightly in acceptance of the comfort. After a minute, he arched a brow and teased, “I’m onto you two, by the way. You think you’re so slick, but I know damned well you’re both getting your scents _all over me_ on purpose right now.”

“Libel,” Peter declared with a haughty sniff, although he made a point of purposefully running his hand down Stiles’ arm as he stepped away. “Lydia, do you hear these slanderous claims?”

“I do. However, I have no idea as to what he is referring,” Lydia insisted in feigned innocence, batting her eyes and pretending not to notice the ruby red lipstick smear on Stiles’ shirt.

“Villains, the both of you,” Stiles admonished, but he was amused enough by their antics to feel his mood improving steadily. After a minute, he picked up Derek’s sketch and bit his lip. “Do you think I should use something else?”

“Derek wanted you to have it,” Peter reminded. “Besides, you saved Talia’s daughter’s life just last week – and not for the first time. You have saved her son on numerous occasions. You have repeatedly helped to protect Hale territory wielding nothing more than a baseball bat and a smart mouth.” He nodded as he said, “My sister would be deeply honored to know her image was used to aid you.”

Stiles looked up at Peter in awe, blown away by the praise. “You really think so?”

“I _know_ so,” Peter confirmed. “Besides, when Derek eventually learns about your new skillset, I am assuming, as your Alpha, that the necklace will pass to him.”

Stiles frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Luckily for you, I have,” Peter said with a smirk. “I say use Talia’s image. It will make its way back to Derek in due time. And it will only be visible when the magic of your so-called ‘kill switch’ is in effect, correct?”

Stiles nodded and took it into consideration. After a moment, he said, “FYI, we’re calling this my ‘leash’ now. Lydia’s idea. She totally forbade ‘kill switch.’”

“In that case, I am very much looking forward to the day when Derek has you on a leash,” Peter teased.

“Seems only fair,” Lydia commented. “Stiles has had him on a figurative one for long enough.”

“You two are terrible, terrible people. I hope you know this,” Stiles grumbled before standing and righting the coffee table. He knelt down to clean up the mess of papers and books.

Lydia knelt beside him to help, giving him a warm smile when he looked over at her in surprise.

_______________________________________________

The process took until the early hours of the morning. Peter was dozing in the massive bed, although clearly ready to leap up at a moment’s notice. Lydia was sitting on the far end of the couch, feet tucked up beneath her and headphones on while she watched something on her phone.

After they helped get Stiles set up, he had gone into a sort of trance, carefully molding the materials into the desired shape and layering on spell upon intricate spell to do his bidding.

Finally, just a few hours shy of dawn, he sat back and motioned to Lydia that she could come take a look.

She sat up and scooched over beside him. “Can I touch it?” she asked cautiously and waited for him to nod.

It was a decidedly masculine piece of jewelry. The chain was made up of sturdy iron rings. The obsidian was in the shape of an oval, with an iron band around its exterior. She turned it over and inspected the other side, smiling at how innocuous and unassuming it looked while the magic was inactive. No one would ever guess the power the piece could hold over an even more powerful supernatural being.

Stiles smiled over at her and took it back, picking up a cloth and getting to work polishing the stone.

Lydia watched him in silence for a moment before deciding to speak up. “You know… while you were busy, I looked up _The Curse of the Sad Mummy_ on YouTube,” she said quietly.

Stiles winced and paused for a second before returning to buffing the obsidian.

“I got the other references you made, but I had never heard of that one,” she explained. “I never really got into gaming, but I wanted to see why you mentioned it.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“It was… remarkably poignant,” she admitted honestly, blinking back the sudden excess moisture in her eyes. “I really was not expecting that. And… I get it. The comparison,” she assured, studying him sympathetically before asking, “Is that how you feel? What you’re afraid of?”

He swallowed with a degree of difficulty and chewed the inside of his cheek while giving a noncommittal shrug. He was feeling exposed and wishing yet again that he had just kept his freaking mouth shut. He decided that Derek really was onto something with the whole predominantly nonverbal communication thing. Personally, he was feeling steadily less inclined to speak. The less he talked, the easier keeping things a secret would be, after all. He was trying to ignore it – along with everything else – but the desire to retreat into himself and hide away from the pack was growing more intense by the day. It just seemed as if it would make things so much easier to be alone. He took a calming breath and blinked back the dark thoughts.

“Given your powers, I understand the worry,” she said softly. “And why you were so adamant from the start about making yourself a proper ‘leash.’” 

He nodded stiffly. “I can’t take any chances. I promised myself I wouldn’t keep going unless I knew it was safe.”

She rubbed his back and smiled at him reassuringly. “Oh, Stiles. You have got to be the best… or _worst_ vampire the world has ever seen. I guess it all depends on how you look at it.”

He laughed at that and nodded, returning his attention to polishing the obsidian. After a moment, he said, “I think… that ought to do it.”

He stood and went to the fridge to grab the bottle of deer blood he had brought, chugging it quickly with a grimace just to get it down. It was not what he needed – barely did the job, in all honesty. It was so hard to stomach anything other than fresh, living blood, but he was way too tired to attempt to hunt tonight. He had used a large amount of magic and his body was suffering as a result. He would have to settle for this cheap substitute and a day of solid sleep to recover.

“Ready to go?” Peter asked as he got up, looking entirely too alert for a man who had just woken up a minute prior. “Shall we take it for a test run?” he asked with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Tomorrow,” Stiles sighed wearily. “I need to get home so I can go to bed.”

“Come now,” Peter tutted. “There is a perfectly good, extremely expensive bed right there.”

Stiles arched a brow and started packing up his stuff. “Yeah, no. I’m not waking up to find out you two were ‘accidentally’ texting pictures to Derek of one of you spooning me.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip. “Give us more credit than that.”

Stiles arched a brow and continued, “ _Or_ having you guys wait until I’m asleep, send him the room number and address with ‘911’ so he shows up here only to find me passed out and covered in both of your scents and _your lipstick, Lydia Camille-Grace Martin_. Don’t think I didn’t notice this,” he said as he pointed to the strategically placed smear.

She at least had the decency to wince guiltily in reply.

Stiles chuckled and said, “You two are entirely too devious and I am entirely too exhausted to even attempt to anticipate your next moves. Which means it is in my best interest to get back to the relative safety of my own bedroom before I fall asleep.”

“Spoilsport,” Peter pretended to sulk.


	10. Chapter 10

It was just a stupid little piece of metal.

Stiles was tired.

 _Fuck_ , Stiles was so tired.

And it was just a stupid little piece of metal.

Pointless, really. Utterly useless for barring the entry of the type of visitor Stiles routinely received through his bedroom window. Bottom line – if they wanted in, they were gonna come in. It was as simple as that.

Still, Stiles thought the implications of him actually _using_ his window lock for the first time should be pretty clear. Right? The symbolic gesture of asking to be left alone… asking Derek to stay _out_ and _away from him…_ Well. It would make a statement, that was for sure.

He could use mountain ash, but that would set a bad tone, you know? It would come across as a _‘fuck off’_ rather than the gentle _‘please respect this humble boundary’_ he was going for.

His fingers flexed at his sides and he exhaled loudly through his nose, trying to come to a decision. He was too tired for this shit. Too tired to carefully consider all the possible outcomes.

He had been standing there for 5 minutes already. Ever since he got home from the hotel, in fact. He made sure to fire off a text to Scott telling him that he would not be at the pack meeting, so hopefully his decision about this stupid little piece of metal would not even come up.

 _Up_. The sun was almost up now. Shit, he needed to decide one way or the other because he knew he was going to be unconscious for at least the next 14 hours.

After a moment, he took the last resolute step forward and slid the lock into place.

He gritted his teeth at the sense of finality that came from the resulting soft _‘click.’_ As if by locking this window, he had finally closed the door on all of his foolish, lovesick hopes and dreams.

He stayed there for a moment, hand on the lock, eyes closed as he fought to get his illusory breathing in check.

Finally, he forced himself to take a deep breath and nod as he removed his hand and stepped away. It was for the best.

_It was for the best._

Yeah.

He turned and climbed into bed to sleep the day away and recover his magic.

_______________________________________________

Lydia answered her phone with a frown as she climbed into her car later that afternoon. “Hello?”

“ _Lydia_ ,” Peter greeted. 

“How did you get my number?” she sighed.

“ _As if it were difficult_ ,” Peter huffed. “ _I wanted to speak with you before today’s pack meeting regarding your wish to… ‘poke the bear’, so to speak. Or rather, ‘poke the wolf.’ Hmm… Perhaps, ‘nudge the wolf in the right direction so that said wolf, in turn, finally pokes the fox’?_ ”

Lydia bit her lip to prevent a laugh from slipping out. She was _not_ going to laugh at Peter’s jokes. She had her pride, after all.

“Go on,” she said.

“ _I feel that attempting to use your scent to make Derek jealous would be counterproductive_ ,” he advised.

“How so?” she asked curiously.

“ _My nephew would see you as a more than suitable partner for Stiles. More suitable than himself, even. Rather than become territorial, he would silently step aside, all the while convincing himself that he was doing what was best for Stiles because ‘he deserves someone better than’ him. Does this sound familiar?_ ”

Lydia shook her head. “Terribly,” she agreed. With a sigh, she conceded, “I see your point. What do you propose we do instead?”

“ _Follow my lead, improvise as needed. I know just how to push all of Derek’s buttons_. _We need to stir up a bit of jealousy and possessiveness, without giving him the impression that it is too late or pointless to go after Stiles for himself._ ”

“Sounds like a plan,” she answered. “See you there.”

_______________________________________________

“Still all clear?” Derek asked as the pack began filing into the loft.

There had not been any sign of trouble for a week, so they had returned to a slightly more relaxed patrol routine. It still made him anxious for any of them to be out without backup, but they were down to working in pairs again as opposed to keeping together as a group.

“Not a trace,” Peter agreed, entering behind everyone else.

Ethan flopped down onto the couch beside Danny and put his new boots up on the coffee table.

Derek rolled his eyes, crossing the room to knock Ethan’s feet off the table as he did every time the Beta forgot. Ethan winced apologetically and held up his hands.

When Derek crossed the space to lean against the table, Peter took a seat in the empty spot at Ethan’s other side.

They began their usual weekly pack meeting – assigning patrols and going over training schedules. Derek’s eyes kept flitting around the room, noting Stiles’ absence but keeping his questions to himself.

Or… sort of to himself. 

**DEREK:** _Meeting._

He frowned down at his phone as the minutes passed without a reply from Stiles.

 **DEREK:** _Where are you._

He did not even receive the standard snarky response about his lack of question mark. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

“Where’s Stiles?” Cora asked, and Derek could have kissed her for it.

“Shit!” Scott yelped, smacking his hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Derek. I was supposed to tell you. He’s home sleeping. Said he stayed up all night researching and was gonna crash hard.”

Ethan quirked a brow and slowly turned toward Peter. The older wolf was sitting on the couch instead of the stairs for once – which in and of itself was weird – but also… Ethan sniffed pointedly. His eyes narrowed.

“Is that true, Peter?” Ethan asked as a smirk slowly played across his lips.

Peter gave him a bored look and asked in feigned ignorance, “Is what true?”

“Was Stiles really ‘researching’ all night? Because you _reek_ like him,” Ethan accused.

Danny’s jaw dropped open and he let out a clip of astonished laughter before gasping in a scandalized tone, “ _Peter!_ ”

Peter waved it off as nothing but did not answer the question.

Derek’s instantly red eyes locked on his uncle.

Cora’s instantly _wide_ eyes passed between them, fully expecting things to turn violent. It was an unspoken rule that Stiles belonged to Derek. She had picked up on that within two seconds of meeting him. She could not fathom why her uncle would ever be stupid enough to toe that line.

“Why were you close enough to Stiles that you still smell like him the next day?” Scott asked in horrified bewilderment.

Peter grinned and made a show of settling back into the couch. He clasped his hands over his stomach, clearly enjoying the palpable discomfort in the room as everyone waited for him to answer.

“Because Stiles has a truly… _insatiable_ …” he drawled, pausing purposefully before finishing, “…mind.” He chuckled at the low growl of warning Derek gave in response.

“Meaning…?” Scott pressed.

Peter rolled his eyes as if the answer were obvious. “ _Meaning_ that unlike certain other teenagers around here, rather than wasting his spare time binge watching mindless television or mooning over every girl or boy that bats their eyes in his direction, Stiles routinely burns the midnight oil, filling that _magnificent_ brain of his with all sorts of facts that might one day aid or protect his Alpha and pack.”

He paused to let those words settle in. As predicted, the tension in Derek’s features decreased slightly at the casual acknowledgement of Stiles belonging to him, and the mention of the time he regularly devoted to helping the pack. Peter smiled to himself, knowing that Derek’s wolf was preening, taking this as further evidence that Stiles would be the perfect Alpha’s Mate.

“And, in addition to being endlessly curious,” Peter continued, “he is also quite the resourceful lad. He knows that his research is only as good as his sources.” He motioned to himself and said, “I just so happen to be one of those sources. Where did you think he learned how to recognize a forest hag at first glance and properly dispose of it? _Google?”_ he asked incredulously. He scoffed at the absurdity of that. “Hardly. I provide him with books on whatever subject matter he is currently researching. He reads them, scans them, takes notes, returns them, and requests more. Think of it like our own little private book club.” He turned, taking his life into his hands by throwing Derek a wink as he teased, “It is all very PG, I assure you, nephew. I mean, clearly,” he huffed in amusement. “Were it not, this would not be the first time he would need to spend an entire day catching up on sleep.”

Derek took a step forward, preparing to haul his uncle up off the couch by his throat. Luckily for Peter, he was snapped out of his rage when his cousin spoke up.

“ _Wait_ …” Malia said with a frown. She leaned over and sniffed curiously before announcing, “Lydia smells like Stiles, too.”

Derek went rigid as his eyes flicked over to the banshee seated at the counter.

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise. She had not anticipated this. “Really? After a shower, with me wearing perfume _and_ fresh clothes you can _still_ smell him?”

“Malia has the best nose out of all of us,” Peter bragged, giving his daughter a proud smile.

Malia grinned at the praise and agreed, “It’s true.”

Ethan and Danny exchanged a look and sat forward in intrigue.

“What exactly does it smell like, Mal?” Ethan pressed.

Malia shrugged and said plainly, “Not like they were having sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ethan and Danny slouched in disappointment.

Derek most definitely did not exhale discretely in relief. This conversation was giving him whiplash. His wolf was getting antsy to see Stiles, to breathe him in and assess his scent for himself.

“Well, obviously,” Lydia said. “No one around here is having sex with Stiles.”

 _“Around here?”_ Derek repeated with a frown before he could stop himself.

Cora flinched, watching the vein in the center of her brother’s forehead grow steadily more pronounced.

Lydia gave him an innocent look as she answered, sweet as pie, “Well, I mean _someone_ should be. If no one is already, I’m sure they will be soon.”

“Seriously,” Danny said as he gave an impressed nod. “I mean, I will be the first to give credit where credit is due: Stiles has had one hell of an epic glow-up this year.”

“The longer hair is really working for him,” Ethan granted.

Peter hummed in agreement (because he’s a little shit like that.)

“It is,” Danny agreed. “If he had looked like he does now back when he was in the locker room asking for someone to take his virginity, I’d have absolutely taken him up on the offer.”

Derek scowled deeply at that, lips curling back with the urge to bite.

“He was in the _locker room_ asking for someone to take his _virginity?”_ Peter repeated, batting his eyes in surprise. “Do tell.”

“It was back when the Darach was killing virgins,” Scott answered. With a laugh, he recalled, “You know, he totally would have gone with you if you hadn’t been joking with that offer, Danny.”

“You would have been very satisfied,” Malia assured with wide eyes and a nod. “Sex with Stiles is very good. I told him I would do it again if he ever wanted to.”

Derek was now biting his own lips to keep his fangs in check.

“He has finally grown into those coltish limbs of his, hasn’t he?” Peter added as an afterthought.

“Mmhmm,” Lydia hummed with a smile. “Packing on some muscle, too.”

Peter nodded before commenting, “Won’t be long now before someone snaps him up.”

Derek’s heart clenched painfully. God damn it, and he had invited these people into his home to subject him to this, too, he thought bitterly.

Kira grinned as she added, “He has been getting a lot of attention lately, but he’s always adorably oblivious to it. Like I’ll say, ‘ _That girl was just checking you out!_ ’ And he’ll insist it must be because he has something on his face.”

Ethan chuckled. “Yeah, exactly. A couple weeks ago, a guy at the coffee shop spent literally _ten minutes_ trying to ask him out and Stiles had _no idea_.” He cocked his head to the side as he recalled, “It was equally painful and mesmerizing to watch.”

Peter tipped his head back as if realizing something for the first time. “That’s _right_ … with him being openly bisexual, there will be _twice_ the number of potential candidates out there trying to catch his eye.”

Derek’s brows drew together at the truth of that statement. He had never thought of it that way… Stiles was very up front about his sexual orientation these days, but he hadn’t always been. Of course, _Derek_ had known Stiles was into guys from the very first time he stepped into his personal space and Stiles’ scent had abruptly shifted into what could only be described as, ‘ _Holy shit, dude! Take me now!_ ’ (At least, that’s how Derek interpreted it in his thoughts. And he always heard it in Stiles’ voice, too. That’s what the scent was broadcasting verbatim.) But now everyone knew Stiles swung both ways… And there was apparently interest… And Derek was absolutely not discretely panicking over that fact.

“Huh,” Lydia said, considering Peter’s words before giving a nod and declaring, “Good for him.”

“So, if Peter was bringing Stiles books, why were _you_ with him last night?” Scott asked Lydia curiously.

Derek looked up at that, trying not to appear too eager to hear the explanation.

“A few of the books were in languages he knows I speak. I provide translations whenever he needs them,” she answered simply. It was true, after all.

Derek changed the subject at that point, not wanting to think any more about his growing Stiles crisis.

_______________________________________________

In Derek’s defense, he made it all the way until after sunset before giving in and heading over to Stiles’ house. And he had a perfectly good reason to be there. (He had spent all day coming up with a good excuse, after all.)

He just… wanted to see Stiles. Make sure he was okay.

Maybe sniff him a little.

Or a lot.

From a distance this time, though, because Jesus Christ, he could not trust himself to have his mouth that close to Stiles’ throat again. He barely walked away from the temptation last time. He doubted he would be able to again, especially after all that _Stiles-having-sex-with-other-people_ talk during the meeting. His wolf was pacing around restlessly under his skin, determined that the _only_ person who should be having sex with Stiles at any time, in any place, _ever_ was Derek.

He shook his head and tried to stuff those instincts down. He was only there to check in. That was all. He just… didn’t like that Stiles hadn’t been answering texts all day. It was making him anxious and agitated and he needed the reassurance that Stiles was fine. And alone. And not having sex with someone who was not Derek.

He was so involved in his thoughts that he did not notice the second heartbeat until he had already hoisted himself up onto Stiles’ roof with practiced ease. He nearly slipped back off when he came face to face with…

“Cora?” he whispered in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Der! Hey. I’m just… I wanted to check on Stiles,” she whispered back guiltily.

Derek’s brow furrowed as he glanced over to the closed, darkened window. He could hear Stiles inside – the familiar, steady beating of his heart at rest and shallow, deep-sleep breathing.

“Well… it’s fine. You can head out. I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Derek said, motioning for her to leave.

Cora snorted. “Good luck doing it without causing any damage. His window is locked.”

Derek’s face contorted in confusion at the wholly unfamiliar concept. “What? No, it’s not. It just gets stuck sometimes,” he assured confidently, moving over to the window to see for himself.

Cora watched over his shoulder, noticing the way his entire body tensed when he confirmed her claim.

“Yeah, see that? That’s a _lock_ , bro. And it’s engaged,” Cora informed him with a laugh.

Derek frowned deeply as he asked, “Why would he lock his window?” His eyes narrowed as he looked over at his sister accusingly. “Have you been coming here bothering him?”

“Wh–? _ME?!”_ Cora sputtered indignantly. “This is literally only the second time I’ve ever been here! Besides, if he wanted to keep me out, he knows he’d have to use mountain ash.”

Derek’s frown grew more severe in response. She was right. So, wait… Did that mean there was a _non-supernatural_ person Stiles was trying to keep out of his bedroom? Derek’s claws were out before he even realized it, a low, furious growl rumbling through his chest at the thought of someone… specifically, some other _guy_ … climbing through Stiles’ window uninvited, making Stiles feel the need to lock him out…

“Easy, bro,” Cora whispered, rubbing a hand over his back in an attempt to calm him.

Noise out in the yard caused both of them to turn, their eyes widening as Scott climbed up behind them.

“What are you two doing here?” Scott whispered in confusion.

“Checking on Stiles,” Derek answered gruffly.

“We can’t, though, because his window is locked,” Cora added matter-of-factly.

“What?” Scott asked, just as thrown as Derek had been. “Since when? Are you sure it’s not just stuck?” he asked, leaning over to look for himself.

“Definitely locked,” Derek said, definitely not pouting about that fact. And his wolf was definitely not whining pitifully over being denied access to ( _his_ ) Stiles.

“Why are you here?” Cora asked.

“Sparing myself a night of traumatizing nightmares by confirming that Stiles hasn’t been secretly having sex with your uncle,” Scott answered with his lip curled in disgust.

 _“UGH!”_ Cora gasped in revulsion while Derek growled.

Suddenly the roof lit up, causing the three of them to flinch and shield their eyes.

The Sheriff’s weary voice declared, “You’ve got to be the _biggest_ goddamned raccoons I have ever seen.”

The three winced down at him guiltily where he was standing in his robe in the back yard, shining a high-powered flashlight up at them.

“The loudest, too,” Stiles added hoarsely, causing them to spin back toward the now-opened window in surprise.

Stiles was standing there, face scrunched up and only one eye half open, rubbing his face in an attempt to wake up. “You know… when I said I couldn’t make it to the pack meeting, I didn’t say you should hold it out on my roof instead.”

“Want me to shoot ‘em?” his father offered.

Stiles huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Not yet. I may change my mind, though, so keep your gun handy.”

The Sheriff nodded, then shined his light into the werewolves’ eyes again for good measure as he said, “Front door. Learn to use it.”

“Yes, sir,” the three muttered in reply.

Stiles sighed before turning and heading into his room. “You might as well come on in. You’ve already made sure I’m awake. By the way, never try to whisper argue again. You guys are the least stealthy werewolves in the history of the world.”

Imagine his surprise when he had woken to the sound of a muffled conversation just outside his window and found not one, but _TWO_ Hales _and_ his dopey best friend out there having a huddle on his roof. He shook his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before dropping down onto his bed and waiting for them to all climb through the window. He found it mildly amusing, comparing the ease with which Derek performed the action versus the other two. Practice really does make perfect.

In an instant, Derek was standing beside his bed, glowering down at him intensely.

Stiles leaned back and gazed up at him anxiously. “Uh… is there a problem, Der?”

“Is someone bothering you?” Derek demanded as he pointed over at the window, eyes searching Stiles’ worriedly.

Stiles felt his artificial pulse tellingly skip a beat and shook his head, blinking to avoid the power of Derek’s direct gaze. He had no idea how he thought he could ever distance himself from this guy. And locking his window? Really? His exhausted brain had seriously thought _that_ was a good idea? Of course Derek was going to assume something was wrong. And now look at him – standing there all tensed muscles and scowly brows and distracting mouth set in that worried line, ready to beat the shit out of and/or kill whoever/whatever had dared to make Stiles feel unsafe. _GUHHHHHHH_. Stiles was so not equipped to handle worried, protective Derek Hale. It was too much.

“Someone… like _Peter?”_ Scott added pointedly.

Stiles was so thrown off by that suggestion that he flinched and gave Scott an incredulous look. “ _What?_ Seriously? God, no! Peter’s a puppy,” he said with a dismissive wave. Seeing the incredulous and surprised looks he received in response to that assertion, he nibbled at his lips and amended, “You know, like a creepy… sometimes homicidal puppy?” He winced at how lame that sounded but shrugged. “Why would you think he’s bothering me anyway?”

“Because he smelled like you this morning and now your window is locked,” Cora answered plainly.

“ _Ah_. Huh,” Stiles said, tipping his head back as he took that into consideration. “Well, when you put it like that, I can see why you would come to that conclusion. But no. Nobody – Peter included – is bothering me.” He met Derek’s eyes as he assured, “I’m fine, big guy. No throats need to be ripped out. I promise.”

Derek’s expression softened in response and Stiles died a little inside. Or… died a little _more_ inside? Anyway, he sighed internally at the truth that he was and always would be absolutely hopeless when it came to the Alpha.

“So… how long have you been meeting up with Peter to get books?” Scott asked, clearly concerned.

Derek arched a brow at that, wanting to hear the answer himself.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. A while now. Why?” he asked with a frown.

“Uhhh… because he’s basically evil?” Scott answered as if it were obvious.

Stiles laughed. “So is Lydia. I still get her help with translations.”

Scott’s face contorted in revulsion. “ _DUDE!_ Did you just put _Peter_ and _Lydia_ in the same category?”

Stiles frowned in confusion. “Uh, yeeaaahhh…. Why?”

Scott sputtered. “Because you’ve been in love with Lydia forever!”

“Ohhhh, yeah. I can see where you would be freaked out if you still thought that…” Stiles granted. “I guess I just assumed you knew, but, bro, I haven’t looked at Lydia like that in a looonngggg time.” As an afterthought, he added, “And, because we are officially in Bizarro World here, I guess I also need to be clear that: _NO_. I am not interested in _Peter_ , either.” He snorted at the absurdity of actually having to say that out loud.

Derek leaned back against the wall as the tension drained out of his body. Stiles was safe, not secretly sleeping with Peter (thank GOD), and not in danger of some random guy creeping through his window. Derek tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and sighing quietly in relief. Now, he just needed the other two to get the hell out so he could settle his wolf with Stiles’ unobstructed scent… Get Stiles to talk about something that interested him… Maybe listen to the soft sound of those nimble fingers plucking away at his keyboard…

“Soooo was that it?” Stiles asked, glancing around at his uninvited guests.

“Yeah. Just checking on you,” Cora said before reaching over and ruffling his hair, laughing when he swatted her hand away. “Night, goober.”

“Night, brat,” Stiles answered as she climbed back out the window.

“Front door!” the Sheriff called up the stairs, no doubt hearing someone walking across the roof again.

Stiles laughed and shook his head.

“Say it again for me?” Scott pleaded with big, puppy dog eyes.

Stiles tried to hold back laughter, knowing exactly what his friend was asking for. He sat up straighter, holding Scott’s gaze as he said sincerely, “I have never screwed Peter Hale. I do not _want_ _to_ ever screw Peter Hale.”

Scott sagged in relief and leaned in to give him a hug. “Thanks, bro. The world makes sense again.”

Stiles cracked up and shoved his shoulder. “Get the hell out of here, loser.”

“Later, Stiles,” Scott called as he headed toward the window. At the last second, he held up his hand and turned on his heel, going out the bedroom door and closing it behind him.

Derek and Stiles listened as he made his way downstairs and out the front door.

“You good?” Stiles asked in concern when Derek remained in place. “You kinda look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up.”

Derek huffed and shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, just…” He reached up and rubbed his eyes. “Long day is all… Did you find anything interesting while you were researching?” he asked, taking a seat at the desk. As the cushion of the chair was disturbed, a fresh wave of Stiles’ scent was unleashed into the room.

Stiles made grabby hands for his laptop and Derek turned to pick it up and hand it over. While Stiles launched into an excited, detailed account of the history of kelpies and their arrival in the US, Derek slowly sank back into the seat, his legs stretching out in front of him and hands clasping over his stomach.

This was good. This was _right_.

As Scott put it, the world made sense again.

Derek closed his eyes, listening to the soothing, familiar sounds of Stiles rambling as he typed. His senses were enveloped by the calming comfort of Stiles’ presence like never before. His wolf grumbled happily as it settled down, the grouchy beast lulled into a peaceful sleep. Derek followed closely behind with the scents of Stiles, ozone, and spice blanketing him.

Stiles looked up and smiled fondly as Derek dozed off. He kept up a running dialogue while he worked so the Alpha would stay asleep. Poor guy looked like he really needed it.

After a few moments, Stiles realized that his Spark was thrumming pleasantly, clearly up to something. He frowned suspiciously noting that his magic was curling around itself like a contented housecat. His brows drew together as he assessed it. It took him a moment to work out that his magic was actually connected to the sleeping Alpha, swirling around him like a second skin. The pleasant thrumming Stiles had noted was actually being directed _at_ _Derek_ , providing comfort and a sense of safety.

The Alpha sighed in his sleep and relaxed further, his features softening and making him look younger, even more beautiful.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he realized what was happening. What he was feeling. It was a _bond_. His Spark had freaking _bonded_ to Derek and was now caring for him without Stiles even needing to be conscious of the action.

Well… shit.

He ran his hands through his hair and internally asked his Spark, _“WTAF did you do?!”_

The explanation was obvious. Stiles had been worried about him and Derek getting any closer. You know, for obvious, painful, heartbreaking, depressing reasons which he would really not like to dwell on in that moment with Sleeping Beauty manspreading just a few feet away.

(No, no, wait… Sleeping _Broody._ Ha!)

Anyway, on top of those very valid and sad _reasons_ , his vampiric instincts wanted him to withdraw from anyone with whom he was not willing to bond. Vampires were solitary creatures, aside from members of their own coven. Everyone else was just food. While Stiles’ magic was depleted and mind was exhausted, he had given into that vampiric urge and attempted to distance himself from Derek.

But the instant he awoke with a full tank of magic and the unfairly hot wolf climbed back into his bedroom, his Spark had taken matters into its own hands. Or… glowy tendrils… _Whatever_. Point is, Stiles’ magic was now just as hooked on the Alpha as his heart.

Fantastic.


	11. Chapter 11

Over the course of the next few weeks, Peter and Lydia continued their villainous campaign of strategic interference / coordinated psy-ops. As a result, Derek spent considerably more time than usual stopping by (and napping again on a few occasions) in Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles never commented on it. He knew the devious duo were bothering the Alpha and figured the poor guy was probably hiding from whatever torments they were subjecting him to. After all, they rather deliberately left Derek alone while he was there. _(“Positive reinforcement is a highly effective training method for canines and men alike, Stiles,”_ Lydia informed him with a wicked smile when he called her on it.)

And yeah, it was true that Derek was using Stiles’ room as a refuge… but unbeknownst to Stiles, Derek was also there to reassure himself and lick his wounds. Peter and Lydia’s onslaught of carefully delivered, subtle remarks were just enough to leave Derek half convinced that, at any given moment, a line of suitors might be wrapped around Stiles’ block waiting to whisk him away. As a result, Derek was feeling increasingly off balance and anxious, his wolf driving him to constantly seek Stiles out. But it was fine. Totally fine. So fine, in fact, that he sometimes even managed to last more than a day at a time without checking in.

Okay… that… that actually might be… a _bit_ of a stretch…

In truth, it was more like: Derek sometimes managed to last more than a day at a time without checking in with Stiles _face to face_. Because on the days he attempted to exercise a little restraint, he invariably found himself in wolf form at some point, standing in the woods behind Stiles’ house just to confirm that the teen was safe.

Derek tried not to think too much about how odd (and, frankly, “ _stalkerish_ ” by Stiles’ standards) his recent behavior was. He also tried not to think about how much his wolf was starting to take the reins where Stiles was concerned. But when it came right down to it, giving in to the overwhelming urge to check in was _so much easier_ than sitting around all day and night imagining countless scenarios that ended with Stiles gone forever. And there was just… something about being close to Stiles lately that gave him a soul-deep sense of peace. He had gravitated toward the teen since day one, despite his best efforts, but now? There was some powerful, new aspect to his attraction to Stiles that he could not place (or, apparently, get enough of.)

Of course, on the other side of things and unbeknownst to Derek, Stiles was actually _fully aware_ of those supposedly discrete wolfy check-ins. Stiles was also _fully aware_ of the way his Spark instinctively responded to being sought out. He could sense it reaching out into the woods like the shameless magical hussy it was, calming and reassuring the wolf.

Stiles was starting to think of his Spark and Derek’s wolf like errant teenagers. See, he and Derek were the reasonable, responsible adults, respecting one another’s unspoken boundaries and doing their level best to carry on as if everything was business as usual. No mutual feelings to see here. No, sir. _Meanwhile_ , the Spark and wolf were off in the background making heart eyes at one another and sneaking off for secret backyard rendezvous. It was _officially_ ridiculous.

Another item that cropped up to complicate Stiles’ life: there had been an unforeseen and alarming side effect of his Spark latching onto the wolf. His vampiric side evidently recognized that bond and was so totally okay with it. Like, fully onboard. Sounds okay, right? No possible problems there? Yeah, no, wrong. It quickly became clear that the bond had made the darker side of him – _holy fucking shit_ – like, so much more vicious in its defense of Derek. Turns out, a vampire bonding to another being is kind of like a decidedly deadlier version of calling ‘dibs!’ Because see, now, according to his vampy instincts, that was _His_ Derek to defend. _His_ Alpha. _His_ wolf. And anyone who posed a direct threat would be eliminated. Swiftly. Painfully. Permanently.

For instance, the omega who entered their territory a week prior and caught Stiles running errands alone. As Stiles learned while cornered in a deserted parking lot, the grizzled, unhinged werewolf had a vendetta against Derek. _Blah, blah,_ some perceived offense the Hale pack committed against him more than a decade ago, _blahhhh_. So boring. Stiles had not really paid attention to the rant. Like, really, guy? Derek is supposed to be held accountable for actions his dead family members took back while he was a _Tween_ Wolf? GTFOH. He rolled his eyes and let the guy monologue, planning to play the expected part of snarky, but otherwise defenseless, human… Fully intending to call for the pack to come deal with the situation… Honestly! The phone had been in his hand and everything.

Buuuttt then the guy went into graphic detail about his plans to kill Derek.

And Stiles… _well_ … Stiles just sort of leaned in and casually ripped the guy’s throat out. With his teeth.

It was only fitting, his vampire side insisted. An _ode to Derek_ , if you will. A kill in his Alpha’s defense, executed in a manner that paid tribute to their early days as grudging allies. Because apparently vampires are nostalgic like that. Homicidal _and_ sentimental – Stiles was not sure what to do with that information.

Stiles did no further damage to the omega, just watched in a sort of detached interest while the threat died a slow, painful death, bleeding out all over the parking lot. He did not even consider feeding because 1. his human instincts had yet to allow him to feed from anything but deer (and he had been lucky so far with making sure he never got too hungry to control his feeding), and 2. his vampire side felt that feeding would somehow cheapen the gesture. This was not about food. This kill was a gift for Derek.

Struggling to come to terms with his own actions, Stiles stood there, covered in blood, staring down at the now-dead omega and reeling over how easily he had lost control. It had been so easy. So _seamless_. The thought, ‘ _This motherfucker–!_ ’ had barely formed in his head before he just… reacted.

His mind was a maelstrom of conflicting reactions. His Spark was utterly indifferent, feeling much the same as Malia had the day that he killed the forest hag: _‘She threatened pack. She got what she deserved.’_ His retained humanity recoiled in horror, squealing and flailing uselessly inside his head, deeply disturbed by the ease with which he was killing lately. The vampire in him, however, was immensely proud. Not to mention, eager to show Derek what he had done. After all, the Alpha would surely be pleased by this gift.

Stiles had an overwhelming urge to bring the omega’s body to the loft and lay it at Derek’s feet, like a cat presenting a dead mouse to its owner. At that, his flailing had turned physical, as opposed to strictly mental, because, _WHOA!_ Absolutely not! There would be _no_ bloody Valentines!

(Vampire courting be like:  
 _Roses are red.  
Carotids are, too.  
Here’s a dead werewolf,  
I slaughtered for you_. <3 XOXO)

Eventually, he managed to talk down his vampy side and use his Spark to burn up all the evidence. Blood, scent, body – all burned out of existence. (His vampy side totally pouted about it, but whatever.)

After a bit of magical cleanup to his clothing and scent, Stiles climbed into his Jeep and attempted to go on about his day.

Less than half an hour later, he was accosted in the bread aisle of the grocery store by a bunch of supremely worried wolves. Derek managed to inform him ( _through suspiciously pointy and impressively gritted teeth_ ) that he had sensed the omega in his territory ( _uh oh_ ), tracked down where the guy was staying ( _this couldn’t be good_ ), and broke in to find ( _ohhhh shit_ ) pictures of Stiles on the guy’s computer.

Because even unhinged werewolves need to do their homework, folks.

After making that discovery, Derek had been… well, to call it ‘upset’ would be the equivalent of calling the Pacific Ocean a puddle. In all honesty, Stiles gave him credit for not racing into the store in furry form.

You can see where this is heading, right? That’s right. Paranoid pack babysitting. And a snarling, hovering Alpha whose eyes damned near refused to stop glowing.

He was all-but dragged back to the loft, not even allowed to drive his Jeep. His Dad was informed that he was on lockdown for his own safety and he was expressly forbidden from leaving until the omega was found and handled.

It took until the following day for Stiles to discretely inform Peter that the threat had already been dealt with. Of course, Peter had been just as pleased as punch by this. The elder wolf pushed for Stiles to present – or, at the very least, take credit for – the kill to Derek. (And gee… where had he heard _that_ before. No wonder his instinct had been to seek out Peter after he had been turned. Game recognizes game. Crazy recognizes crazy.)

Grudgingly, Peter relented and assured everyone that the omega was very, very dead and all evidence of his existence was already gone. He took the credit for himself again. However, he was adamant that, as soon as Derek learned about Stiles’ new supernatural status, he was going to brag to the Alpha about Stiles’ body count in defense of the pack.

 _Oh, goody_ , Stiles thought glumly. _One more reason to dread being outed._

_______________________________________________

A week later, well after midnight, Stiles was lying in bed. Apart from the times when he depleted his magic, sleep was no longer necessary for him. Neither was breathing or eating solid food. Still, he liked the routine of getting ready for bed and resting with his favorite pillow, sitting in the dark and quiet and sorting through his thoughts. As such, when the first flare of a strange sensation surged through him …… _troublebadwrongdangerhelp_ …… _,_ he did not so much _wake up_ as startle back into a state of mental presence.

He clutched at his chest as he leapt to his feet, eyes wide as he tried to assess the new feeling and identify its cause. There was a burning, pulsing sensation beneath his skin, and he recognized it as his Spark. For whatever reason, it was extremely agitated and buzzing in warning.

Closing his eyes, he focused on it, wordlessly willing it to help him understand. In response, he could smell the forest after a storm… _Derek_. He gasped out of reflex as the warning ripped through him again – stronger this time: …… _dangerpainhurtwrongfearbloodtakentakentakentaken **TAKEN**. _

His eyes snapped open.

The phone was pressed to his ear before he was even conscious of having made a call. Unsurprisingly, Derek’s phone went straight to voicemail.

The enraged shriek that tore its way from Stiles’ throat echoed out into the night as he drew his arms back and leaned forward into it, fanged mouth dropping open wide to sound the alarm.

He barely registered the shingles of his roof beneath his bare feet before he was leaping into his backyard and racing out into the night.

Stiles was not entirely aware of his journey to the loft. He had completely surrendered himself to his vampiric shift, fully embracing its unrestricted senses and gifts, knowing it was the fastest way to reach his destination.

He found himself standing at the open loft door in bare feet, wearing only pajama pants, phone somehow still clutched in his hand. He stuffed it into his pocket on autopilot. His shockingly pale, illusion-free skin seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering in through the windows. His wide, black eyes surveyed the room as he breathed in deeply.

_Gun powder._

_Derek… forestafterastorm… Alpha… Blood… Wounded._

_Six humans. Wolfsbane. Gun oil. Kevlar._

_Hunters._

_Soon to be six very_ DEAD _hunters._

Stiles’ lips curled back over his fangs as he let out a low, furious growl, saliva dripping from his mouth as the bloodlust settled in. He skulked over to the elevator, climbing over the fence and dropping down the shaft without hesitation, following the scent of Derek to the ground floor. He made his way out into the parking lot, to the place where Derek’s scent had been swallowed up inside a large, diesel vehicle.

His onyx eyes stared out into the night with a wild, detached, murderous gaze.

His human side was terrified for Derek’s safety. His Spark was reaching out longingly, feeling the wolf far off in the distance. His vampire side was greatly looking forward to tearing apart every last hunter who had dared to touch or even so much as _look at_ his Alpha.

He sensed Peter’s approach long before he was at his side.

“Derek?” Peter asked anxiously, breathing in deep and catching the lingering scents.

“ _They… **took** … him_.” Stiles snarled viciously, voice echoey and melodic – distinctly vampiric.

“Can you track them?” Peter pressed.

Stiles nodded. “My Spark feels him. And I have their scents. There’s nowhere they can hide from me now.” He turned and walked to the parking lot, not slowing as he passed Peter’s vehicle.

“Did you not want me to drive?” Peter asked in confusion as he followed after him.

“No. _She’ll_ drive,” Stiles answered.

He continued walking for another full minute before Lydia’s car skidded to a halt in front of them.

Peter arched a brow, realizing that Stiles’ shriek must have summoned the banshee to him as well. They would need to discuss that later. He had been completely caught off guard by Stiles’ ability to call for him like that – shocked by the way he had instinctively responded, knowing without question that it was Stiles and that he needed aid. He had been instantly aware of Stiles’ location – felt him cross town in a flash and end up at the loft.

They climbed into the car and Stiles lowered the passenger side window, breathing in the night air.

“Derek…” Lydia said, gathering as much.

Stiles nodded and pointed down the road to their left. “Drive.”

“Should we call the pack?” Lydia asked as she pressed down on the accelerator.

“They’ll only slow me down,” Stiles answered truthfully. With a wicked, fang-filled smile, he added, “And I can’t promise I’ll be able to adhere to Scott’s strict moral code.”

Peter huffed at that. “Those bastards took my nephew. I say leave your morals at the door.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and warned, “Stiles, be sure to keep yourself in check.”

Stiles side-eyed her – the figurative angel on his shoulder as Peter played the devil so well. _Balance_.

“Turn right,” Stiles instructed.

Lydia took a swift turn and continued on as if she had not been interrupted. “I can see that you are fully embracing your violent side right now and, hey, I get that. Whatever it takes to find Derek and bring him home safely. But try to remember that – once you let go of this and return to your retained humanity – you _will_ have to face whatever decisions you make tonight. So maybe rather than trying to adhere to Scott’s moral compass, you adhere to your own?”

Stiles shot her a bored look. His vampiric side was deeply disinterested in morality.

“Fine. How about sticking to _Derek’s_ moral compass, then?” Lydia challenged purposefully. “He may very well see the aftermath of whatever you are about to do. You may have to explain your actions to him.” 

Stiles growled in reply, but grudgingly nodded. Even out for blood, he did not want to do anything that would cause the Alpha to think less of him. “I’ll make sure they’re beyond all reprieve before ripping them apart.” He turned to Lydia, grinning around fangs as he asked, “Happy?”

“Very,” she agreed in a cheerful tone.

_______________________________________________

They drove for an hour before Stiles directed Lydia to pull over into a wooded area.

“They’re in a building a couple of miles up ahead,” he said, climbing from the car and pushing all of his senses outward, further than ever before. His Spark was frantically seeking Derek, deeply displeased by what it found. “They have him drugged. He’s out cold.”

Lydia arched a brow at him, making a mental note to grill him later about just how he was able to sense the Alpha in such detail from such great distances.

“Got quite a hunters’ hideaway going on up there…” Stiles commented. His eyes narrowed as he realized how huge the building was, and how many hunters he was going to have to get through to reach Derek. He turned back to find Peter giving him a hesitant look.

“I’m going alone,” Stiles informed the wolf.

Peter’s features tensed with concern and he shook his head, opening his mouth to argue.

Stiles held up a hand. “I know you don’t like it, but I need you out here to protect Lydia. I need you ready as backup or, if necessary, to stop me from going too far.” He motioned purposefully to his ‘leash’ necklace tucked beneath Peter’s shirt. They had done several test runs with it. Stiles was confident in its ability to put him down when needed. It was a deeply unpleasant experience, but absolutely worth it to have a failsafe.

Peter reached out and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, giving a squeeze as he met his eyes. “Good luck,” he said sincerely. “Go give them hell.”

Stiles grinned. “I intend to.”

“Remember what I said,” Lydia reminded purposefully.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles teased before dashing off into the woods.

“He’s going to put quite the dent in the hunter population tonight,” Peter mused.

Lydia shrugged. “So long as, for the sake of Stiles’ conscience, they prove themselves irredeemable, I am completely okay with him ridding the world of them.” 

_______________________________________________

Stiles stood in the shadows watching the building and deciding how to proceed. He needed these bastards to show their true colors. Before any killing started, he needed to be able to assure Derek there had been no other way…

What better litmus test for evil than to see how they handled regular old helpless, mouthy Stiles, right?

He gave a truly award-winning performance, pretending to try and sneak into the building and, of course, getting caught in the act. He earned a boot to the ribs, rifle butt to the jaw, and face-full of concrete for his efforts. With his hands zip-tied painfully behind his back, he was searched (bastards took his phone), and hauled up onto his feet.

“Who are you?” one of the hunters asked in amusement. “And where the fuck are your clothes?”

Admittedly, Stiles looked down at himself in surprise at that question. _Oooh yeah_. Still rocking the whole shirtless in pajama pants look.

“Uh…” he replied (deliberately) unintelligently. “Well, this is awkward,” he joked weakly. He winced as if in pain from his injuries, but really, he was focusing on preventing them from healing. It would not do to show his hand just yet. 

“Wait, I recognize him. Yeah, he’s the Sheriff’s kid. He’s human, just hangs around with the mutts. Probably their little _bitch_ ,” another hunter sneered.

“How fucking sweet. Must’ve come here trying to save his Alpha,” the hunter restraining Stiles chuckled, digging his fingers into his bicep hard enough to bruise. “Let’s get him upstairs. We’re gonna have fun tonight.”

Stiles was going to fillet this man at the first opportunity. 

He was led through the building, feeling his Spark’s connection to Derek grow steadily more intense. The Alpha was unconscious and drugged with something that felt toxic and generally all-kinds-of-awful. It was wreaking havoc on Derek’s body, weakening him from the inside out, clouding his thoughts. Stiles nearly rolled his eyes at the way his Spark fretted and fussed over the wolf, curling around him gently and getting to work cleaning the poison from his veins.

It took a few minutes and an elevator ride before they reached their destination. Up ahead, blocked from view by a wall of hunters, he could feel Derek. He decided to observe for a bit, assess the situation before making his move.

“Sooo… what’s the plan here?” he asked, allowing his voice to quaver slightly as if his bravado was false. “You guys rough me up, play twenty questions, then dump me in my front yard with a warning? I mean, that’s what Gerard Argent did. I’m guessing that’s sort of your guys’ M.O., right?”

That earned a round of laughter.

“You fucking wish,” one of them replied. “You already got one warning. That’s a hell of a lot more than you deserve.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you ain’t walking out of here alive, mutt-lover,” another hunter laughed.

“I’ll give you a choice… gut shot…” the hunter gripping him offered, pressing the barrel of a gun into Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles swallowed audibly, looking up at the hunter with wide, terrified eyes.

“ _Or_ … head shot…” With that, he brought the gun to Stiles’ temple and kept it there. “A gut shot’ll take longer to die from. But, _oof_ , that head shot, man…” He made a show of cringing and shuddering. “Even if we didn’t have plans for your body, there’d be no chance of an open casket after that, if you catch my drift.”

One of the other hunters mimed his head exploding.

“Fuck giving him a choice. He’s getting the head shot,” another laughed.

Stiles licked his lips and let his eyes flit around the room anxiously. “You would seriously shoot a regular kid in the head?” he asked pointedly. “Hmm? Just a regular human teenager? All of you are _completely_ _okay_ with killing me?”

They all chimed in with their agreement, laughing at how stupid the question was.

“What did you expect? If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas,” the hunter holding him sneered.

“You guys really need to find new material,” Stiles snarked. “Seriously, none of you have any qualms whatsoever about breaking the so-called ‘code’?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” one of the hunters chuckled. “It’ll be our little secret. See, we’ll be sure to make it look like your big, bad Alpha over there did the honors. Shred you to bits. Make it so they need dental records to identify the body.” The gun was pressed harder against his temple for emphasis as the asshole added, “And, of course, we’ll scoop out of the parts that show any trace of a bullet wound.”

Stiles bit his lip and fought to keep his rage in check as he was shoved forward and pushed down onto his knees. Whole building full of totally irredeemable douchebags: Confirmed. Time to end this shit.

But the sound of electrical current abruptly ratcheting up caused him to turn in surprise.

“The mutt should have a front row seat for this,” one of the hunters laughed.

Stiles’ eyes widened as the hunters stepped aside, revealing Derek as he was jolted awake.

Derek could barely open his eyes past the pain and confusion. His entire body was throbbing as if broken glass was coursing through his veins, ripping and tearing in time with his pulse. He recalled flashes of the attack at his loft. He winced as he tried to pry his eyelids open. The room was too bright. He could hear voices. His unfocused gaze slid around the scene before him as his sluggish brain fought to understand, to decipher the blurry images he was seeing. Metal tables. White floors. Hunters. Too fucking many of them.

But then, he saw _… pale skin… stretches of it dotted with familiar and uncharted constellations_ … He smelled… _ozone and spice… warmth and comfort… home…_ His wolf stirred inside him, responding to the familiar scent. His brows drew together as he struggled to focus. Gradually the image started to make sense. _Shirtless… kneeling… gun to head_ … STILES.

Derek’s eyes locked on, filling with panic, and he was instantly fighting with everything he had to get free.

“ _Whoa!_ We got a live one!” a hunter laughed behind him.

“You’re just in time, Hale. I’m about to paint the floor with your little pet’s brains,” the hunter holding Stiles taunted.

A jolt of pure terror ran through Derek. The hunter’s heart had remained steady. He was really going to kill Stiles.

Derek fought against the chains wildly, gripping them and pulling with every ounce of strength he could muster, screaming and paying no mind to the blood that poured down his hands. “Let him go!” he seethed.

“Now, why would we go and do a thing like that?” the hunter asked, pressing hard enough with the gun against Stiles’ temple that his head tilted to the side.

Through his Spark, Stiles could feel how terribly disoriented Derek was. The drugs were still thick in his blood. Paired with the electricity running through his body, he was weaker than a human and could barely think straight. But through it all, he was intensely aware of the danger the hunters posed to Stiles, and he was out of his mind with the need to do something to protect him. Stiles tried to send a wave of reassurance to the wolf, but Derek was too far gone to feel it. He refocused his Spark’s efforts on trying to purge the drugs from Derek’s system.

Stiles bit back tears as he called softly, “Derek… _Der_ … It’s… It’s okay, big guy. Hey, it’s gonna be okay, I swear.” He could not bear the fact that he would have to shift in front of him like this. Of all the horrible ways to reveal it… His voice broke as he pleaded, “Just close your eyes. Okay? Please? Close your eyes for me.”

Derek shook his head furiously, too overwhelmed by terror and impotent rage to follow the request. “No! _NO!_ Stiles!” he shouted, afraid that if he looked away for even a _second,_ he would be abandoning the teen to his fate.

“Ready to say goodbye, Alpha?” the hunter asked, reveling in Derek’s pain. “Let’s count it down…”

Derek fought even more desperately to reach Stiles, pleading with the hunters until his voice was raw. “Please! _Please please please_ don’t do this!” he wept as he continued fighting against the shackles, blinded by desperation and oblivious to the pain he was inflicting upon himself. He remembered… carrying Erica’s body. Carrying Boyd’s. And Aiden’s. Finding what was left of Laura’s body in the woods. His mind recoiled in horror over the traumatic losses. All of them were dead and gone. Like Allison. Like his whole family. _Oh, God, no. Please God. Not Stiles, too. Please_.

“1…” the hunter drawled in amusement.

“Just tell me what you want!” Derek begged. “Tell me! Whatever you want, I’ll do it! _JUST_ _LET HIM GO!”_

Stiles glanced up at the smiling hunter at his side and took a shaky breath before looking back at his Alpha. “It’s gonna be okay, Der,” he whispered. “Just… I’m so sorry you have to see this.”

Derek’s face crumpled and heart fractured inside his chest at the calm resignation in Stiles’ tone. “ _No, no, no, no_ … _please_ … _Stiles…_ ” he sobbed as he shook his head. He blinked back the tears that were blurring his vision and fought to focus, desperate to memorize every detail of the teen’s face, every mole, every varying shade of his amber eyes. He knew this moment would replay in his mind for the rest of his life – the last time he would see Stiles alive.

“2…”

“Stiles… I…” Derek tried, throat constricting as a million words wanted to be spoken at once. _I’m so sorry for failing you. I appreciate you. I’m so lucky I found you. I know we both feel something for each other. I was just waiting… for you to be older… for the courage to risk losing our friendship for the possibility of so much more_. _I love you. I…_

Before he could attempt to voice any of it, his world was turned on its axis.

_“3!”_

A single gunshot rang out, loud and clear.

Derek howled with grief as he fell to his knees.

What happened next made absolutely no sense.

Derek’s eyes opened wide as numerous impossible things took place simultaneously. The gun must have jammed... or… something… because the bullet never touched Stiles. Instead, in the blink of an eye Stiles’ face _changed_. His skin turned a jarring, bloodless white as his enraged eyes swirled to inky blackness. In a flash, he was snarling and launching up at his would-be murderer, mouth opened wide to reveal lethal fangs.

The hunter barely had time to cry out before he was propelled back across the room, Stiles driving him against the far wall as he bit down and tore the man’s throat out. A terrified shriek had just started to leave the hunter before he was gurgling and choking on his own blood.

Derek’s breath hitched as his jaw dropped open.

The rest of the hunters were screaming and aiming their guns at Stiles, and Derek instinctively tried to move forward to defend him, chains jangling and halting his efforts. His heart leapt up into his throat knowing that he could do nothing to help.

A rifle was pressed violently against his own forehead, and Derek froze. He knew this was it, he was going to die.

Before the round could leave its chamber, a deafening _screech_ echoed through the building.

Derek’s eyes went wide as they locked on Stiles…

 _Stiles_ … whose face, as well as his bare chest and stomach were now covered in blood…

 _Stiles_ … whose fanged mouth was still dropped open as he continued letting out that _horrid_ , infuriated sound in response to someone threatening his Alpha.

A chill ran through Derek as he understood – _Stiles had saved Cora_. He had been the one to shriek that day in the Preserve. He had been the one to kill the forest hag. Which meant… _How long had Stiles been like this?_

It took a moment for Derek to realize that every hunter was frozen in place with little more than strangled sounds escaping them.

Derek stole a glance up at the hunter towering over him and watched in bewilderment as the man’s entire body began to glow with amber colored light. Anguished cries filled the room as all around him the hunters began to slowly burn.

Derek could barely breathe past the stench of burning flesh as he watched it all play out. He kept looking back to check on Stiles, torn between being frightened by the look of pure, homicidal rage etched into Stiles’ features, and being immensely relieved that he was somehow eliminating the threats.

One by one their captors fell to ash until, finally…

The building was silent.

The sudden quiet was deafening.

As Derek listened to his own heart racing, he realized that the teen’s heart was utterly motionless.

Stiles stood eerily, unnaturally still.

Derek fought to keep his emotions at bay, lips trembling as he breathed, “Stiles?”

Black eyes flicked to him, locking on with an intensity that made his wolf instinctively tense up in preparation for an attack. But this was _Stiles_. It made no sense. None of this made any sense.

“Stiles… _please?”_ Derek whispered brokenly, holding up his bloodied, chained hands imploringly. He wanted more than anything to be released so he could get his hands on the teen and check him over, try to make sense of what he was seeing.

But Stiles’ nostrils flared in response to the proffered blood-soaked appendages… His head slowly tilted to the side, his posture going stiff as his mouth dropped open. He breathed in deeply, tongue running slowly across his dripping fangs as his expression turned to something maddened and predatory. He shuffled forward a few steps.

Derek watched unblinkingly, swallowing back instinctual fear as his mind raced. _Pale skin, black eyes, fangs, no heartbeat, drawn to blood_ … He understood all-too-well what this meant, no matter how desperately he wanted to deny it. But it did not matter. It was still _Stiles_. They would figure it out. They would make it work. They would find a way. After all, the teen had already shown that he was more than some mindless blood drinker.

“Stiles… can you hear me?” he asked nervously as the teen drew closer. He was acutely aware of every drop of blood on his skin, the way he must smell to the hungry, young vampire. “Listen to my voice. You _need_ to stay in control, okay? You were in control before. You can do it again. I _know_ you can. It’s me – Derek. You don’t want to hurt me, right? You came here to save me, didn’t you? Remember? That’s what we do. What we’ve _always_ done. We save each other.”

Stiles blinked slowly, shaking his head as if to clear his mind before whispering wearily, “Der…?”

“Right here. I’m right here,” Derek reassured, exhaling in relief that he at least recognized him.

“They… _took you_ … away… had to… _hmm_ …” He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, struggling to think clearly and string words together. “…they were gonna… _kill_ you… I had to…”

“I know you did. I know you did,” Derek soothed tearfully, not wanting him to feel for one second that he had not been justified. “You did what you had to do. You found me, Stiles. And you saved me.”

Stiles swallowed with considerable effort, wincing as the ravenous hunger muddled his thoughts. “Shouldn’t have… burned ‘em all… was stupid… got so mad… he was gonna… but no, shoulda… shoulda _fed_ before… _nnn_ …”

He dropped heavily to his knees beyond Derek’s reach, looking as if it was taking all of his energy just to stay upright.

“Can you…?” Derek pleaded, holding out his hands, giving another useless tug at the chains holding him.

“Sorry, Sourwolf…” Stiles whispered with a sad smile as he grew steadily wearier. “Better not… Safer for you… if I don’t. You… smell… you smell _so_ fucking good…” An involuntary growl escaped him before he gritted his fangs and closed his eyes, trying to block out Peter’s words – about how satisfying a werewolf’s blood would be. “ _God_ , if I could just… make myself stop, then I could… you could… help… and I wouldn’t feel so…” He sobbed pitifully, his entire body suffering from starvation. _Needing_ blood. _Needing_ magic. Having neither. He would not last much longer without them.

Derek’s mind was in chaos, fighting to process and understand all of this. Half of him was ready to offer up a vein right that second if it could stop Stiles from crying in such obvious anguish. The other part was well aware of how dangerous that would be. Judging by what Stiles had been able to convey, he would not be able to control himself once he started. 

Off to their right, a phone started ringing.

Derek sighed heavily in relief recognizing the ringtone. It was Stiles’ phone. “Can you answer that? Or bring it to me so I can get us some help?” he asked hopefully.

Stiles shook his head feebly, fighting to stay lucid. “Can’t… can’t get up…”

After a few seconds, the ringing stopped and Derek felt defeated, until…

“Hey, Siri,” Stiles called weakly, struggling to form words now. “Text Zombie Wolf: ‘ _Little Shop of Horrors. Pull the leash. Pickup for two_.’”

Derek studied Stiles worriedly, trying to understand as the phone confirmed the message was sent. “Zombie Wolf?” he repeated. “You mean Peter? What’s –?”

Before he could finish his question, Stiles’ eyes glowed with amber light. He let out a strangled sound… and collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Derek sat in horrified silence, mouth dropped open and hands hanging uselessly in the air in front of him.

Stiles was… _lifeless_. No pulse, or breathing, or warmth. Just… a body.

For several moments, Derek was stuck like that, in shock and unable to even begin processing what was happening. He was aware of the fact that he was rocking slightly, his muscles involuntarily spasming periodically as numb tears streamed steadily down his face.

The sound of boots squeaking on the linoleum floor caused him to blink and slowly look up in a daze.

Peter was rushing towards him, asking questions, shutting off the electrical current that Derek had honestly forgotten was still running through his gut. Peter gripped him by the face, looking him over worriedly as he asked more questions, but Derek could barely understand the words. Could not bring himself to speak. Could only look back down at Stiles in shock.

“Oh…” Peter sighed as he glanced down at Stiles. “That.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of Derek’s throat, and he wondered for a moment if he was losing his mind. “ _That?_ ” he repeated dumbly. As if everything he had just witnessed could be summed up as such.

With a huff, Peter leaned down and removed the cable from Derek’s stomach, then located the keys and carefully unlocked the wolfsbane shackles on his wrists and ankles. Derek watched in bewilderment as Peter then hoisted Stiles’ body up over his shoulder, completely unconcerned by the state of it, as if all was fine and he was merely retrieving a child who had fallen asleep on the floor.

With a smile, Peter offered, “If it is any consolation, dear nephew, this would have been _far_ more traumatic for you both if Stiles had not asked to be temporarily incapacitated. Although… I suppose it would have all been over rather quickly for you.” He paused as if considering that before asking, “Can you walk?”

Derek blinked repeatedly and got to his unsteady feet. “For the most part,” he answered gruffly, wincing as the pain of his injuries began to settle in. As they set out, his mind began to clear a bit, and his gaze could not help but keep returning to Stiles’ limp form. “Is he…?” he began but had to stop to swallow back a lump in his throat. “I mean… _how_ is he…?”

“That is a loaded conversation for the two of you to have amongst yourselves. After, of course, we feed him,” Peter answered.


	12. Chapter 12

Derek followed his uncle out of the building in a daze. He was so busy staring at Stiles that, once they reached the parking lot, it took him a moment to realize Lydia’s presence should catch him by surprise.

She had her car pulled up to the entrance and was waiting beside it.

“Hey, Derek,” she greeted with a tight-lipped smile, eyes tinged with sadness. She had wanted Stiles to tell Derek about everything, but she knew this was most definitely not the way Stiles would have chosen to reveal the truth. She ached for the way this would hurt him once he was back on his feet.

“Hey…” Derek answered quietly, only to do a doubletake and frown. “Wait, you…? You knew about this, too?” he asked in disbelief.

“I figured it out on my own,” Lydia assured. “He didn’t tell anyone.” As an afterthought, she added, “Well, anyone other than Peter.”

Derek’s face contorted in confusion. “Why the hell would he…?”

Peter arched a brow in mock offense at his nephew’s reaction while Lydia opened one of the back doors for him.

“You know, I asked him that very same thing when he reached out to me on the night he was turned, and do you know what he told me?” Peter asked as he leaned in and placed Stiles in one of the backseats. Standing upright again, Peter rested his arms on the top of the car door, looking back at Derek as he finished, “He said, and I quote, ‘ _Out of everybody, I’ll be the least broken up about it if I eat you.’”_

Despite himself, despite all the horror of that night, Derek could not help the huff of laughter that escaped him. He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and dipped his head. It was comforting to hear Stiles’ words, even if they were secondhand.

“So… did you want to call shotgun, or are you sitting in the back with him?” Peter asked in amusement as he closed the car door. He paused as if taking it into consideration. “I mean… I _suppose_ , we could just put him in the trunk. Not like he would notice or complain.”

Derek glowered severely in reply, wordlessly rounding the car and climbing into the backseat beside Stiles’ slumped over body. He winced, realizing that Stiles must not be able to feel anything while he was like this, but still, he could not help but think how uncomfortable the position must be. Steeling himself, reminding himself _repeatedly_ that Stiles was not really dead, he reached over and pulled the teen against his side so that he could steady him during the drive.

His wolf was whimpering pitifully at the lack of response, at how cold and still Stiles was in that moment. Derek pushed through it, taking a steadying breath and wrapping his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. He reminded himself that, like this, Stiles was utterly defenseless. That thought had him holding on a little tighter, his wolf puffing up proudly at being entrusted with guarding over Stiles while he could not protect himself. He glanced down at Stiles’ body and sighed, wishing he had a way to clean the blood from him. It seemed wrong to just leave him covered in it, but for the moment, he had no other choice. After a few seconds he became keenly aware of the fact that he was looking at Stiles’ bare chest and stomach. He winced, feeling guilty for seeing Stiles like this when he routinely wore 2-3 layers over his upper body. Wanting to respect Stiles’ usual desire for privacy, Derek kept his eyes away from the typically concealed areas on his body.

While Lydia and Peter got situated in the front seats, Derek’s brow furrowed as he started piecing things together.

“Stiles was the one who killed the forest hag,” Derek stated, wanting to address the item that had occurred to him earlier. He looked up front, catching Lydia’s gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

“Yes,” Lydia confirmed with a nod as she started the car and pulled away from the building.

“He _did_ ,” Peter recalled with a grin. “It was his first kill in defense of the pack. He was unwilling to risk Cora being harmed further. He risked revealing himself to all of you in order to protect her.”

Derek frowned and repeated purposefully, “His _first_ kill?” He got the distinct impression Peter was referring to something other than the dozens of hunters he had slain that night.

Peter turned in his seat, borderline gleeful to finally get to share this information. “Well, yes. His second was the omega.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Stiles killed the omega? But… when? We brought him straight to the loft and…”

Peter shook his head. “No, no. It was before you took him to the loft. Just before he went to the store.”

Derek blinked in surprise. “He… killed the omega… and then went grocery shopping?” he asked in bewilderment, struggling to follow along.

“Yes, Derek,” Peter deadpanned. “Errands don’t run themselves simply because one has to roll up their sleeves and spill a bit of blood.”

Derek took a steadying breath and pressed his lips together. “So the omega _did_ attack him before we managed to reach him?” he demanded worriedly, looking back and forth between them for confirmation.

Peter grinned ear to ear and clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “Oh, that is my personal favorite part about this story. The answer is: No. The omega found Stiles, cornered him, and – had Stiles still been human – would have undoubtedly killed him. BUT he never made it that far.”

Lydia shook her head at Peter’s theatrics before cutting in with, “The omega told Stiles he was going to kill _you_. Stiles’ instincts were to eliminate the threat.”

“You stole the best part!” Peter sulked.

Rolling her eyes, she offered, “I’ll let you tell him how Stiles summed up his vampiric response to hearing a longwinded threat to Derek’s life.”

Peter chuckled before relaying, “ _Talk shit, get bit.”_

Derek’s lips twitched with the urge to laugh at the pure ridiculousness of it all and how quintessentially _Stiles_ that quote had been. He settled for shaking his head and looking down at Stiles’ face.

“In all seriousness, though, he is really struggling with all of this, Derek,” Lydia informed him softly. He met her glance in the rearview as she said, “Yes, he has tackled this situation with every ounce of his trademark sarcasm and wit. He has overcome incredible odds and come up with a thousand truly brilliant solutions in order to keep his daily routines relatively unchanged and ‘shield the pack from the truth’, as he puts it. Still, he is having an extremely hard time accepting himself and what has happened to him. He was killed. He _died_ and was changed against his will.”

Derek flinched and inhaled sharply at hearing it said aloud. He looked down to keep his tearful eyes hidden. His hands trembled where they were holding Stiles.

Lydia went on, “He kills now – even though he has only done so when necessary – but that is just one more new thing he has to learn to accept. He is honestly terrified and half-convinced that he will be abandoned by the pack once everyone knows what he is.”

“I would _never_ …” Derek breathed in disbelief, appalled that Stiles would ever think that possible.

“Oh, believe me, I know that,” Lydia assured. “And I have told him as much many, many times now. But you have to understand, he is _deeply_ ashamed of certain aspects of the unique being he has become. Just the fact that he had to let you see him like this must have broken his heart. He is going to need you, Derek. He is going to need your help to see his worth and accept himself.”

Derek’s features softened as he nodded, not trusting his voice to attempt a reply.

They drove in silence for a bit before Derek finally asked tentatively, “The fishing trip… Is that when…?”

“Yeah,” Lydia answered, biting her lip as her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“So… when you screamed for him…?” Derek all-but whispered.

“That was when it happened, yes,” she confirmed. “It’s why I don’t scream for him anymore.”

Derek’s brows drew together, a lump rising in his throat, aching with the need to sob. He swallowed it down and cleared his throat. “So… when he answered his phone that night…?”

“He had already been killed and turned,” Peter said quietly, his tone heavy with regret. “We never stood a chance of reaching him in time.” 

Derek’s breath hitched and features tensed as a few tears spilled out. It took a hell of a lot of effort to hold the rest of his tears at bay as he recalled Stiles’ voice on the phone that night. How he had tried to stay playful and act as if nothing was wrong. But it was the end of the call that replayed in Derek’s mind now on repeat. The way Stiles’ voice took on a weary, gravelly, utterly sincere tone as he sighed, _‘I appreciate that you were all racing up here to help. I know if you had been here when this happened, you would have done whatever it took to keep me safe. I know that. Without a doubt. And it… it really means a lot to me. I don’t think I tell you enough that I appreciate you all. I’m really lucky we all ended up together.’_

Derek remembered being so affected by the inexplicable sorrow there, the way it felt in his heart as if Stiles had been saying _goodbye_. Considering what Derek now knew, the words hurt so much more. He could understand what Stiles had wanted so desperately to tell them. He wanted them to know that what had happened to him had not been their fault.

 _God_ , he had just been through hell, had just died his mortal death, and he had only been worried about _them_ blaming themselves for it.

Derek’s lips trembled and he leaned down without thought, pressing his forehead to the top of Stiles’ head and gritting back tears.

In the front of the vehicle, Lydia and Peter exchanged a knowing look, both beyond relieved that the Alpha finally knew and could be there for Stiles. 

_______________________________________________

“Where are we taking him?” Lydia asked once they were approaching Beacon Hills.

“He needs to feed before he can rest and recover. So, the Preserve,” Peter answered.

“What does he eat?” Derek asked curiously.

“Strictly deer so far. _Although_ …” Peter trailed off with a sigh, making a show of pondering their options. “I am honestly not sure how we are going to pull this off.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked with a worried frown.

(Peter suppressed the urge to grin victoriously.)

“Well, obviously he cannot hunt for himself in his current condition – he will be far too weak when he wakes,” Peter reminded, knowing without looking that his words were causing Derek to hold onto Stiles a little more tightly. “We never planned for this exact scenario. We have some blood stored at my apartment to tide him over between hunts, but it is nowhere near as nourishing as when he feeds directly from living prey. It would not help him at this point. And our current situation is further complicated by the fact that he cannot drink dead blood, so that eliminates the option of just killing an animal and bringing it to him.”

Derek’s brows drew together in consideration. It took less than a second for his wolf to be bounding around excitedly, struggling to shift while insisting that it knew just what to do.

“I can help,” Derek said in a carefully neutral tone, hoping to conceal the way his wolf was practically salivating over the idea of hunting and providing food for Stiles.

Peter glanced back at him in convincingly feigned curiosity, as if he had not fully anticipated this and was not well aware of what Derek’s wolf planned to do. 

_______________________________________________

Half an hour later, they were walking out across a clearing deep in the Preserve. Derek carried Stiles to the center and carefully laid him down in the dewy grass. He pushed the hair back from Stiles’ brow and steadied himself. Every single instinct in his body was adamantly opposed to leaving him while he was like this, but he knew he had to in order to help him. He would have to trust Peter – as disturbing as that concept was. But it seemed Stiles had already chosen to do so himself.

“When he messaged you… he said, _‘pull the leash._ ’” Derek recalled. He turned toward Peter as he stood upright. “What was he talking about?”

“This,” Peter said as he reached into his shirt and withdrew the softly glowing necklace. “This is Stiles’ so-called leash. He created it as a backup plan just in case he ever lost control. He asked to be incapacitated in order to protect you. I assume, judging by the rest of his message, that he was perilously close to giving into the temptation to feed from you.”

Derek’s lips parted as he caught on and he rolled his eyes as he sighed, “ _Little Shop of Horrors_ … As in ‘Feed me, Seymour’?”

“Exactly!” Peter said with a pleased grin. “He created a coded system to define his own threat level.”

Derek shook his head at that. As he thought back to the moments leading up to Stiles being ‘incapacitated’, he frowned thoughtfully. “From what he was able to say, I take it he can’t control himself while he’s feeding?”

“Ha. _Understatement_ ,” Peter assured with wide eyes. “I have attempted to help him with that, but my efforts have been entirely unsuccessful. I tried to stress to him the benefits of him being able to feed from us. After all, he is a vampire allied with a pack consisting of predominately werewolves. If he could manage to learn control, we could serve as a sustainable, highly restorative food source for him. After all, he is going to have to come up with an alternative to his current methods soon because, at the rate he needs to feed, he will wipe out the deer population in the Preserve before long. When I brought up that point to him, his solution was for him to start traveling outside of Hale territory to hunt…”

Derek scowled deeply at that, unable to suppress a light growl.

“… _which_ I strongly advised against,” Peter insisted. “But he has made no progress whatsoever in learning control while feeding. And he has never been willing to even attempt to feed from me.”

Derek glowered at the mental image of Stiles _feeding from_ Peter and resolved to himself that if Stiles would ever be feeding from _anyone_ , it would be him.

After stuffing down the swell of possessiveness, he cleared his throat and asked, “How did he ‘ _create’_ the necklace? And what exactly did he do to the hunters to burn them up like that? And how has he been able to hide that he was turned?”

Peter arched a bemused brow. “My, aren’t we inquisitive?” he teased. “But I think I have explained more than enough already. Have to leave some things for the two of you to discuss, after all. However… I will share this one last item.” He motioned for Derek to come closer and held the necklace up for easier viewing. “Take a look.”

Derek did so, and his brows rose in surprised unison as he focused on the glowing golden image at the center of the obsidian. “ _My sketch_ ,” he breathed in wonder, watching it pulse with amber light.

“He did not realize whose likeness it contained,” Peter informed him.

Derek pressed his lips together, a physical indicator of his unwillingness to talk about it.

“When I told him, he felt guilty,” Peter recalled. “He thought he should use something else, felt as if he were somehow _unworthy_ of being linked to Talia’s image.” He paused, watching the way Derek frowned disapprovingly at that. With a smile, Peter assured, “I informed him that your mother would have been deeply honored to help him. After all, Stiles took it upon himself to serve as a guardian to her children all this time.”

Derek’s lips twitched at the truth of that statement. Looking back, he marveled as always over how many times the teen raced into dangerous situations in his and Cora’s defense with no consideration for his own safety. _God, who would have thought?_ He was still floored by how wildly inaccurate his first impressions of the teen had been. He had believed Stiles to be weak, when in fact he was the strongest of them all. He thought he was an idiot, which – in an endearing way – he was at times, but beneath all the joking, he was actually so incredibly brilliant. He had initially deemed Stiles a distraction from what was important, when it turned out he would become the single most important person in Derek’s life.

Derek took a deep breath, swearing to himself that he would find a way to help Stiles flourish in his new reality.

“After he has recovered, I will turn this over to you,” Peter said, speaking of the necklace. “As his Alpha, it was always destined to be in your hands. I would show you how it works now, but I think it best to wait until the last possible minute to wake him.”

Derek nodded at that and started to undress.

Lydia’s brows rose in amusement before she turned her full attention to Stiles, wondering just what sort of an awakening he was in for.

_______________________________________________

As the first surge of power rushed through him, Stiles drew in a ragged breath, only to exhale on a pained cry. Everything hurt. He was just so incredibly, irrationally, ravenously… _hungry._ He felt his fangs elongate, his jaw dropping as his senses searched for something, _anything_ nearby that he could drain. He could smell Lydia and Peter somewhere in the trees behind him. His first thought was, ‘ _Too far away_ …’ His second thought was panic that he had not immediately dismissed them as viable prey.

His brows drew together in confusion as he slowly became aware of a commotion across the clearing, heading straight for him. There were sounds of animalistic distress… answered by deep, throaty growls… His taloned fingers sunk into the grass as he struggled to push himself up off of the ground. He looked up, only to freeze in place in astonishment at the scene that awaited him.

Derek’s unmistakable, large, black wolf form was dragging a massive buck along by its antlers across the ground. The buck was panting heavily in exhaustion, giving feeble attempts to fight, but unable to do much beyond occasionally kicking its legs. The wolf had clearly prolonged the chase in order to render the stag too weak to escape. Stiles knew that this prize was hard-won. It would have taken an hour of constant running to wear the animal down so thoroughly.

Stiles’ nostrils flared as the sweet, faint scent of blood reached him. He shuddered as he exhaled, trembling in anticipation as Derek drew closer. The wolf had obviously taken great care not to cause any significant injuries to the buck, resisting his natural instincts to go for its throat, stomach, or even legs. Not wanting to waste any more of the precious blood than was strictly necessary. 

Stiles’ motionless heart clenched at the gesture – because this right here? This was the _pinnacle_ of vampire romance, baby. That top shelf, good shit.

On Derek’s end, it was also peak wolf romance, because – _come the fuck on!_ – he literally had to hunt down a _stag_ for Stiles and present it to him. A hart from the heart, if you will. You could not find a more blatant example of wolf wooing.

No, no, wait!

Wolf ‘ _awoo!’_ -ing.

Ah… classic.

(So, then, werewolf courting be like:  
 _Roses are red.  
My Alpha eyes, too.  
I caught you a buck.  
Watch me drag it to you. <3 XOXO)_

Stiles smiled around fangs in appreciation and weakly teased, “Aw, Sourwolf! If I’d known we were exchanging gifts, I wouldn’t have thrown away that shit-talking omega.”

Even with a mouthful of antlers, the wolf gave a huff in reply and Stiles chuckled triumphantly. See? Derek thought he was hilarious even when he was all furry.

In the back of Stiles’ mind, his human instincts were insisting that he needed to shut the fuck up and not reveal anything further. For all he knew, Peter had not even told Derek about the omega incident yet. ( _Highly unlikely_ , his vampire side assured.)

Once within reach, Derek released the buck’s antlers, bowed his head, and backed away – wolf-body-language for, _‘Go ahead.’_

Stiles did not hesitate before lunging the last couple of feet and latching onto the buck’s throat eagerly. Derek cocked his head to the side, watching him feed. Stiles stuffed down his human side and its deep, instinctive shame over Derek seeing him like this. He could deal with the shame later – preferably when he was not in danger of starving to death. Or… starving to permanent undead death? You get the idea.

Stiles’ eyes rolled closed as he lost himself to the rush of feeding, let it wash over his senses, trusting Derek to protect him while he was vulnerable.

By the time the buck had been bled dry and he withdrew his fangs, his pain had eased up considerably. It would take a while before it was gone completely and he was back to himself, and he could not use any of his illusions until his magic recovered. He felt so _exposed_ like this. He wanted nothing more than to use his Spark to hide away again.

“Better?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked up at him in surprise, finding Derek back in human form and already wearing a pair of jeans that were sitting _staggeringly_ low on his hips. Stiles shook his head to forcefully tear his eyes away from the temptation. Clearing his throat, he managed to answer, “Yeah… but… gotta sleep now.” He was fed and safe. He could already feel his body attempting to shut down. 

“So, sleep,” Derek answered simply.

“Good idea,” Stiles praised with a nod before slumping over onto the ground, fully unconscious before his face hit the grass.

Derek smiled in relief before taking a calming breath and leaning down to scoop Stiles up off the ground. It was so much better this time. While Stiles’ skin was still like ice and his heart was still eerily silent, he sighed and murmured in his sleep, offering Derek reassurance that he was still with him.


	13. Chapter 13

“Where are we taking him?” Lydia asked once they were back in the car. “I mean, I’m assuming his house and the loft are out. We don’t want anyone showing up and seeing him before he recovers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. “He may very well be unconscious for a couple of days. I mean, he slept for nearly 14 hours after creating his leash. God only knows how much energy he expended taking out so many hunters at once.”

Lydia sighed and nodded. “True. And, of course, we’ll have to tell Noah where we go.”

Derek cringed as he realized that the Sheriff had probably witnessed Stiles being killed that night on their fishing trip. He decided to shelve his curiosity about the details of how it happened for now. Partly because he was not sure if Stiles would be up for telling him. Partly because Derek was not sure his heart could take it. He distracted himself by shifting Stiles in his arms, taking comfort in the little annoyed huff Stiles gave in response to being jostled.

“He’s been in touch while all of this has been going on tonight,” Peter stated, holding up his phone.

Derek looked up at him in surprise. The idea of Peter and Noah _texting_ or _talking_ seemed harder to believe than Stiles being turned into a vampire.

Peter continued, “He messaged earlier to let me know his neighbors had called in reports of ‘ _a wild animal_ ’ or ‘ _some sort of siren going off_ ’ inside his house. By the time he got home, Stiles was already gone.” He looked over at Lydia as he said, “I think it safe to assume they were referring to Stiles’ call for us.”

She nodded that it was likely.

Derek arched a brow. “So, his scream… or shriek…” He struggled to find a word that could accurately define it. “That… _sound_ he makes… It’s like a howl? He can use it to signal pack?”

“Possibly,” Peter guessed. “Tonight was the first time he used it in such a way, and he only summoned me and Lydia. I am not sure whether that was due to us being the only ones he intended to call for, or if we are the only ones he is capable of reaching due to our shared traits.”

“What traits?” Derek asked.

“Our link to the veil,” Lydia answered, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Peter has crossed it and returned. Stiles is – at least half – a being _of_ the veil. And I, of course, act as its messenger.” With a frown, she joked, “Speaking of, if that’s the way my screams sound to you guys, I am _so_ sorry.”

Derek bit back a smile.

Peter chuckled before tilting his head in consideration. “Yours are close, but Stiles’ shriek has a component that I have not encountered with a wolf’s howl or your banshee wails… With it, he forged a connection of which I doubt he is even aware. I did not so much _hear_ his call, as _felt_ it.”

Lydia’s brows drew together as she recalled her own reaction. “Same. I knew what he needed and what was wrong. There were no words or images – just knowledge.” She blinked as her eyes widened at the implications.

Peter smirked at the look on her face, knowing that they were thinking the same thing. “Yes, it could prove quite useful for him, and the pack, in the future.” 

The three settled into silence for a few minutes, considering this.

Derek gazed down at Stiles’ pale face and ran his hand through his hair. “I have a place we can bring him. Take Exit 22. I’ll direct you from there.”

_______________________________________________

When Stiles regained consciousness, he was instantly aware of the fact that his illusions were still down. He drew in a breath, eyes opening and replenished Spark flaring into effect, taking on all of the careful work to exhibit his human characteristics. Beside the bed, he heard an uptick of a heartbeat, and his eyes flitted over to find Derek seated, gazing back at him silently.

Derek had watched in open wonder as Stiles’ body swiftly regained all the expected scents, sounds, and warmth he associated with the teen. It was like watching a wave washing over him, his blackened eyes shifting back to amber, his flesh regaining its usual color, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, and his silent heart suddenly beating its familiar rhythm.

“That… is _amazing_ ,” Derek declared, genuinely awed.

Stiles blushed and averted his eyes as he sat up in bed. As the covers slipped down his body, he noted in appreciation that someone had dressed him… albeit in Derek’s clothes.

“How do you do that?” Derek asked, leaning forward in interest and resting his forearms on his knees. “Lydia and Peter answered a lot of my questions before they headed out, but they wouldn’t explain this part to me. You smell like magic. It took me a long time to recognize it. Is that how you’re still… _you_ … even after being turned?”

Stiles looked down at the blanket and picked at a loose thread. Derek was certainly being surprisingly talkative and looked close to bursting with a million questions, but the subject matter was making Stiles want to run for the hills.

“Can I maybe get a shower first?” Stiles asked quietly in lieu of answering.

Derek winced, feeling guilty for pouncing on him like that the second he woke up. He had tried to rein in his curiosity, but it was hard. He had been sitting there, silently pondering all the changes in Stiles for nearly 24 hours so far.

“Yeah. Absolutely. _Sorry_ ,” Derek said awkwardly, feeling a blush creeping up on him. “Everything is ready for you in there. Your Dad brought a change of clothes when he came by to check on you.” Noting the way Stiles was looking down at the oversized clothes he was wearing, he quickly explained, “Lydia got the worst of the blood off and got you dressed when we first got here, but at that point, all we had were my clothes.”

Derek wanted Stiles to know he had not been the one to do so. Although, his wolf was positively delighted over the fact that Stiles was dressed in his clothes and carrying at least a bit of his scent. It would have been far better if he had _worn them_ first, but, alas, they were clean. His wolf had grumbled petulantly over his refusal to rub his scent all over them before giving them to Lydia.

Unwilling to leave Stiles after everything he learned, Derek had stayed in the room while Lydia worked. He did his best to keep his eyes averted as Lydia used numerous warm, wet cloths and towels to remove the blood from Stiles’ body. Derek would have felt jealous, but he had noted Stiles’ lack of physical response to Lydia long ago. As it was, Derek was lucky she had been there to do it. He sure as shit would not have allowed _Peter_ to touch Stiles like that and… well, Derek reluctantly admitted to himself that he would have struggled to focus on the task. See, he was finding himself a bit distracted. Even now, more than a day later, he could not stop recalling the sounds of Stiles feeding from the buck… The way Stiles had let out all those little contented, blissed-out moans and sighs and slurps and holy _fuck_ , how could a vampire drinking blood be so freaking hot?

Because it was Stiles, that was how. Because Derek was evidently absolutely hopeless where Stiles was concerned. The memory of that feeding would wreak havoc on Derek’s control and feature in his dreams for a long time, he knew.

Stiles climbed from the bed and Derek did his best not to openly stare at him as he led the way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

“Soooo… where are we exactly?” Stiles asked curiously, looking around at the large, unfamiliar home.

“One of my rental properties,” Derek answered. “It’s furnished, backs up to the Preserve, and it’s relatively private. I figured it would be a good place for you to recover,” he offered, stopping at the bathroom door and turning back to face him. “I took it off the market, so you’re welcome to it anytime you need it. Whether it’s for recovery, or if you just need some quiet.”

Stiles’ brows drew together, and he looked into Derek’s eyes curiously, wondering why he would do that for him. “That’s… a lot, man. You don’t have to –”

Derek held up a hand and cut in with, “I know I don’t have to. I _want_ to.” He arched a brow, suppressing a smile as he said, “Now, kindly shut up and go take a shower already. You reek like venison.”

The casual mention of him vamping out and chowing down on that deer caught Stiles off guard, but he had always had a weak spot for Derek’s seldom-seen playful side.

Stiles snorted, “You’re just mad because it’s making you hungry, Sourwolf.”

Derek huffed as Stiles walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

After a few seconds, Derek grumbled deadpan, “It really is.”

He smiled victoriously when Stiles laughed on the other side of the door.

After stripping down the bedding, Derek threw it all in the washer and remade the bed. When he was finished, he went to the kitchen to wait. He made himself a sandwich while deciding how best to approach Stiles.

Before she left, Lydia had given him further insight into Stiles’ understandably turbulent mental state. She expressed her reluctance to betray Stiles’ confidence but had ultimately decided that – in order to help Stiles heal – Derek needed to know what was going on beneath the surface. After all, Stiles was a master of masking his pain. Lydia relayed his fears and self-hatred. She even sent Derek a link to a video Stiles referenced at some point, drawing a comparison to himself. Derek would deny until his dying day that the video choked him up. Leave it to Stiles to indirectly make him cry over a goddamned little cartoon mummy. From an artistic standpoint, though, it had been stunning. The idea that Stiles could relate to the sorrow and hopelessness it depicted was enough to make Derek’s wolf whimper with the need to comfort him. He had an overpowering instinct to gather every soft textile in the house, make a literal nest out of it all in a small, defendable location (possibly a closet), and tuck Stiles into it. Then, just burrow in, wrap around him, and keep him warm and safe from the world.

Derek blinked in surprise and sighed as he managed to shake it off. Yeah. Stiles was definitely making his wolf’s instincts harder to manage.

Considering Lydia’s words about Stiles’ shame over what he had become, Derek decided to confront it directly, make it clear that he accepted all of it – every aspect of who Stiles was now. He knew that Stiles would shrink away from both him _and_ the subject if he was allowed. Derek decided not to allow that at all.

When Stiles eventually came down, freshly showered and looking a hell of a lot more delicious than Derek’s sandwich, Derek smiled over at him.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Yeah, no longer Bambi-blood scented,” Stiles joked. “Even got the lingering stench of the hunters off, so your nose should be thanking me.”

Derek took a moment to marvel over him. There were no outward indications at all that anything about him was different. He realized that he had been studying Stiles for too long when the teen shifted uncomfortably. He smiled and closed his eyes before looking down at the counter in front of him.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to stare. I just…” Derek took a deep breath and admitted on an exhale as he met Stiles’ gaze, “I’m _really_ glad that you’re still here.” (Lydia had warned him against referring to Stiles as ‘still alive,’ and he was thankful for it when he saw the way Stiles’ shoulders visibly relaxed.)

“Thanks,” he said quietly, giving a light smile in return.

Derek cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry for hitting you with so many questions the second you woke up, but it seems like I have a _lot_ to catch up on,” he said with a playfully arched brow, making sure Stiles knew he harbored no anger over being kept in the dark.

Stiles huffed and rubbed the back of his neck before conceding, “Yeah… you could say that. You… uh… you can go ahead and ask me stuff now.”

“So, your Spark…” Derek began. “Is that how you’re able to be like this, as opposed to a traditional vampire? How you’re able to stay in control? From what I’ve always heard, a vampire loses themself when they turn, but you’re clearly still… _you_.” His smile turned fond and he knew, despite his best efforts, that his eyes were betraying the affection he held for him.

Stiles’ lips parted in surprise at the emotions on Derek’s face and he looked away, unable to handle it. “Uh, yeah. I… I’ll try to explain, but… uh… I don’t really want to talk about what they did to… um… when they…” He swallowed audibly, reaching up to rub his eyes and try to force the memories back. “I mean… you know… _how_ it happened… to me,” he managed hoarsely.

The idea of telling Derek was somehow far more heartbreaking than when he had told Peter and Lydia. Maybe because he knew how much it would hurt the Alpha, how much every word would tear at his heart, as if it had been a failure on his part. Stiles also did not want to face his embarrassingly strong instinctive desire to just curl into Derek and let him make it all better.

Derek’s eyes flashed red in response to all the indicators of Stiles’ distress. He had to bite back blind rage just thinking about what had been done to him, so Derek added it to the list of things he would ask about later down the road and simply hummed in understanding.

Stiles exhaled in relief that Derek was not going to press. “Right. So, uh… basically my Spark got a jumpstart when I was turned. I woke up dead and pretty much immediately went Super Saiyan,” he said before realizing that Derek probably would not understand that reference. “That’s from –”

“Dragon Ball Z,” Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. “I know, Stiles. I was a teenager not that long ago and, believe it or not, I did watch TV.”

“ _Really?_ ” Stiles asked in feigned surprise. “Huh. And here I figured you just spent your spare time chasing rabbits. Or sticks. Or your tail.”

Derek gave him an impressive imitation of his old bitch face and Stiles smirked.

“Alright, fine. No need to bust out your classic scowls,” Stiles joked. “So anyway… yeah, that little trick I did with the hunters when I found you? That was the first thing I did when I woke up as a vamp. Killed all three of the bite-y bastards. It wasn’t like I planned it or even knew what I was doing. It was just… kneejerk. I mean, I can do it at will on a smaller scale, like I did with the omega, but… it still apparently happens automatically sometimes? I mean, when that hunter was going to shoot you in the head…” He took a second to suck his teeth and calm himself at the surprisingly clear memory of that image. “I just reacted. I guess it’s still linked to my…” He gritted his teeth, not wanting to say emotions, because that would skirt dangerously close to the topic of his _FEELINGSSSSS_ for Derek and he was so not going there. “…uh… _anger?_ Because I can say with certainty that, in both of those situations, I was pretty epically pissed off.”

Derek considered this carefully. “Well… as someone who directly benefited from your kneejerk, angry reaction, I’m not immediately inclined to say it’s an issue,” he said casually, earning a startled laugh from Stiles. “Although…” he scrunched up his face as if weighing out the pros and cons. “It would _probably_ be a bad thing for you to get pissed and involuntarily torch a group of hunters standing in the middle of Main Street. Not that I’d mourn the loss, personally, but it might attract a bit of unwanted attention,” he joked.

“Yeah, just a bit,” Stiles chuckled.

“What else have you used your Spark for?” Derek asked curiously.

“Um, I made my leash, just in case I can’t control myself. I don’t know if Peter showed you…?” he asked nervously before his brows drew together in realization. “He already gave it to you,” he said, pointing to Derek’s chest. He could feel it there, hidden below the material of Derek’s shirt.

Derek nodded. “He did, after teaching me how to use it. And he was right, by the way. My mother would have been honored to help you. I know I’m honored that you used my sketch,” he said sincerely.

Stiles averted his gaze and took a moment to compose himself. “Thank you,” he managed quietly. “Um… I guess the only other thing I’ve been using my Spark for is my illusions. Although… Lydia doesn’t want me to call them that anymore,” he recalled with a huff. “She wants me to call _this…_ ” he motioned to his current appearance, “…my ‘ _Spark shift._ ’ Something about helping me have a healthier opinion of myself or some shit,” he said with a shrug. “It was sort of trial and error in the beginning. Making sure I could mimic how I was before. And, by the way, you, sir, happened to be smarter than the average wolf when it came to that,” he teased. “Had to make a _ton_ of corrections before I could pass Alpha inspection. Lucky for me, I had an inside source.” 

Derek’s eyes widened as he recalled Peter’s meddling and questions about exactly what had been off about Stiles his first night back. He sighed and closed his eyes before breathing, “ _Peter._ ”

“Uh huh,” Stiles confirmed before musing, “You know, he’s a shady bastard, but it’s actually _really_ useful when he’s on your side.”

Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head. After a moment, he declared, “I was thinking we should do your training here, for the sake of privacy, at least until you're ready to tell the rest of the pack.”

Stiles frowned in abject confusion. “Uh… do my _what_ now?”

Derek’s brows rose in unison. “Your training,” he repeated. “I’m your Alpha. You’re my Beta. I’m going to train you just like I would any newly turned wolf in the pack. Help you hone your new abilities and learn control. Familiarize myself with your strengths and weaknesses so I know what needs improvement and how best to utilize you in battles. We should train together at least three times a week to start.”

“Oh. I… I really don’t think I need –” Stiles sputtered.

“Were you aware that you summoned Lydia and Peter to you when I was taken?” Derek asked plainly. And, oh, that was another matter he was just _dying_ to quiz Stiles on because, how had Stiles even known he was in trouble from the other side of town? But he would have to hold his tongue for now.

Stiles’ eyes widened. “ _Did I?_ ” he asked, frowning as he struggled to remember. Things were still generally murky any time he completely surrendered to that side of himself, but he did recall the two of them arriving. The way he had known that they would. “Oh… shit. Yeah, I _did_.”

Derek inclined his head, point made. “That’s one skill you’ll need to practice – test it, learn to do it at will. How about your heightened senses?” His brows drew together, eyes studying Stiles intensely as he prompted, “Lydia mentioned something about you intentionally limiting yourself…?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Stiles played with his fingers anxiously. “I did. I… um… I couldn’t handle it at first and my top priority was keeping myself under control.” He held out his hand as he added, “Well, that and figuring out how to look normal so I could finally come home.”

Derek’s heart clenched, recalling how desperately he had wanted Stiles to get back from that trip, how impatient he had been to see him in person. To know now that Stiles had been working frantically to hide what had happened to him caused a lump to rise in the Alpha’s throat. In an effort to calm his wolf, he recalled holding Stiles on the day he had returned, clinging to the remembered comfort of the contact.

Swallowing hard, Stiles admitted, “I haven’t ever been able to access my stronger senses while I’m… you know… _passing_ … for human.” He winced and looked down at the floor.

Derek could smell the shame coming off of him in waves. He frowned severely, wanting to reassure him, but not wanting to interrupt. He decided that Lydia was definitely onto something with her decision to call Stiles’ current appearance his ‘Spark shift.’ He fully intended to embrace those terms and push Stiles to do the same. The sooner he got out of this shame spiral and recognized his worth, the better.

“There was this one time when I was able to access my vampy sense of smell…” Stiles realized, frowning as he cautiously recalled the night of _The Scenting_ incident. “My eyes shifted, but the rest of my illusions stayed intact.” He blushed damned near crimson as he realized this revelation might lead to questions. “But that was a fluke,” he quickly added. “Yeah. Total freak accident. One-time deal. Uh. Special circumstances with um… extremely specific motivation.” He bit his lips and grimaced, praying that Derek would not ask what that _extremely specific motivation_ had been. (Spoiler alert, Der: it was you!)

Derek’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as if he could read in Stiles’ expression whatever he was trying to leave unsaid. Before Derek could even attempt to ask, Stiles started speaking again.

“Basically, the only time I’ve been able to tap into it at will is when I… um… go full vamp,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. “I can’t actually control the extra senses yet beyond like… off and on? While I’m like… _this_ … my senses are stronger than they used to be, but… nothing compared to what they are when I’m in the other… you know… form.” With a sigh, he admitted, “But when I get like that, I have a hard time remembering stuff afterwards. Like… I haven’t really bridged the gap between the two sides yet, if that makes sense?” he asked with a frown before rolling his eyes in realization. “Which, I guess, _duh_ , it totally does to a werewolf.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. So we need to work on all of that with your Spark shift – give you more control of how much you allow yourself to sense about your surroundings. And we also need to train your vampiric shift to retain control while feeding.” His eyes glanced over at the clock on the wall before he decided, “We should start on that now, actually.” He motioned for Stiles to follow as he walked into the living room, purposefully rolling up one sleeve before taking a seat on the couch.

“Umm… huh, what?” Stiles stammered in disbelief, stubbornly remaining in the kitchen entryway, eyes flicking from Derek’s face to his bare arm and back repeatedly.

Derek arched a brow, giving Stiles an expectant look as he reminded, “If you had been able to feed from me when you rescued me, we could have walked out those doors together.”

“Okay… but…”

“You’re still strong enough that you don’t _need_ to feed yet, right?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, but…”

“Good. Then it’s a perfect time to practice,” Derek declared.

“I don’t…” Stiles said reluctantly. “ _I don’t know_ , man. I’ve never…” he trailed off and shrugged.

“I know. Which is exactly why you should get started,” Derek stated with a challenging expression. “Lydia and Peter have let you guide your own training. I don’t intend to. Have you ever known me to coddle my Betas? I’m not going to go easy on you, Stiles.”

Stiles shifted in place restlessly, clearly torn. On one hand, he was very reluctant to try this. On the other, he was sort of secretly freaking _absolutely thrilled_ by the way Derek was acting. Saying he was going to train him like any other Beta? It made him feel like he was actually being accepted. Like Derek was not setting him apart from the rest of the pack.

His new instincts were, of course, no help at all when it came to deciding whether to go through with it. His Spark was so eager to follow the Alpha’s commands, it was damned near pulsing into the visible light spectrum. And his vampire side, _pfffffft_ , it was already tucking a napkin into its collar and licking its chops in anticipation of the meal to come.

“I was thinking we should activate this in advance any time you practice,” Derek said, pulling the leash out from under his shirt. “That way it’s ready in case you can’t stop yourself.”

Stiles arched a brow, grudgingly nodding that it was a good idea. “Do you know how?” he asked as he finally, reluctantly, made his way into the living room.

Derek nodded. Holding the necklace in his hand, he ran his thumb across its surface before he began muttering the required incantation (in Polish, because Stiles had wanted his leash to give a nod to his mother.)

And was this an insanely inopportune time for Stiles to realize just how incredibly _sexy_ Derek sounded speaking Polish in a hushed tone?

Yes. Yes, it most definitely was.

Stiles gulped loudly.

Fuck everything. This was officially terrible. But how could he have known? It’s not like _Peter_ had sounded sexy speaking Polish. No, Peter sounded like a smarmy tourist asking for directions to the bathroom. But _Derek?_ Of course, Derek had to sound like some goddamned Polish underwear model foreign exchange student at the start of a seriously high-budget porno.

 _Great_. Now, every time Derek had to activate the leash, Stiles was going to be so screwed.

In his imagination.

By Derek, the Polish underwear model foreign exchange student.

Thankfully, Stiles was prevented from having any vivid _thoughts_ on that matter because the effect of Derek’s invocation was instant. Stiles’ eyes glowed with amber light for a few seconds as he felt the tether draw tight. He had not been able to find a way for this particular enchantment to stay active indefinitely, but for a few moments at a time, it could stay at the ready and keep him in line based on his own (non-bloodlusty) moral judgment.

Shaking slightly in equal parts anxiety and excitement, Stiles sat down beside Derek on the couch.

“Sooo…” he said in uncertainty.

“Take your time,” Derek said softly, noting his nerves.

Stiles nodded jerkily and licked his lips, nibbling them indecisively while he built up the courage.

Finally, he reached out and took Derek’s thick, heavy hand in his own. Just that contact alone sent jolts of electricity through his body. It was thrilling and terrifying, to be touching Derek like this after resisting the yearning to do so for so long. Slowly, he brought Derek’s wrist up close to his mouth. He paused just before touching, closing his eyes and just _breathing him in_ … The scent of Derek’s skin. The warmth and vitality that positively radiated from the Alpha.

Derek’s heart skipped a beat as he watched intensely. His own nerves and excitement were building steadily, unsure of exactly what to expect, but eager to get started.

Stiles brought his free hand up to take the weight of Derek’s forearm. He tried not to marvel over how surprisingly soft the thick, dark hair of Derek’s arm felt beneath his fingertips. As if his imagination needed any new details to add to his vivid fantasies, right? The knowledge that Derek’s body hair was freaking _downy soft_ was now fully embedded in his brain.

Stiles’ next inhalation was choppy as the anticipation grew. He allowed his vampiric shift to take over, his skin turning cold and ghostly pale. The flood of new sensory input caused him to shudder. He could feel the blood coursing through Derek’s veins, the way Derek’s heart was starting to pound harder despite his outward appearance of calm.

“Are you _sure?”_ Stiles asked as he opened his black eyes and looked up at the older man.

Derek drew a tremulous breath in response to the melodic quality of Stiles’ voice in his vampiric shift. It was a hell of a lot more seductive than he remembered. Although, the first time he heard it, he had been drugged and overwhelmed with emotion. This time the setting was far more intimate. It was allowing Derek to take in all the details. Like how he could see his own reflection in Stiles’ hauntingly beautiful obsidian eyes.

The corner of Derek’s mouth lifted, and he nodded lightly.

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered as his lips brushed lightly over Derek’s wrist, he was already drunk off the desire to bite down. “I don’t want to hurt you, Der…” he insisted.

“I trust you,” Derek answered simply.

Stiles’ lips trembled with the swell of emotion the Alpha’s words evoked. “I don’t trust myself,” he admitted in a broken whisper as he shook his head.

“You’ll learn to,” Derek assured in a gentle voice, resting his free hand on Stiles’ knee in an attempt to soothe. He tried not to focus on how shockingly cold Stiles felt, tried to ignore the way it made him more eager for Stiles to feed from him – as if his blood could somehow warm Stiles from the inside out. “That’s why we’re doing this,” he reminded. “So you can learn. Your leash is active just in case you need it. I can take the pain and I’ll heal. It’s going to be okay.”

Stiles reluctantly nodded and refocused on the wrist before him. Closing his eyes again, he allowed his lips to drag along the soft skin over the Alpha’s pulse point. His fangs elongated as he opened his mouth and traced his tongue along the veins snaking their way beneath the supple flesh. He trembled as his excitement grew, letting out a sigh and enjoying the scent of his saliva on Derek’s skin. It was a thrilling combination.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” Stiles asked softly.

Derek swallowed hard and nodded, heart pounding and lips parting as he watched Stiles in rapt attention. Stiles’ fangs were almost feline, Derek noted in interest. Longer and thinner than Derek’s own, but clearly razor sharp and deadly.

A second later, those fangs were sinking into his wrist.

Derek’s mouth dropped open as he sucked in a startled gasp. He had been expecting pain. And yeah, that was definitely there. What he was _not_ expecting, however, was the overwhelming and intense arousal that immediately flooded his system. A long, low moan escaped him before he could even attempt to hold it back. His eyebrows drew together tightly as he watched Stiles feed. Derek’s eyes were glowing a heated, steady red. His breathing was ragged, his chest was heaving, and his cock was rapidly thickening in his pants as Stiles made those maddening fucking _sounds_ again… the contented little sighs, gulps, and moans.

Biting his bottom lip, Derek stifled a groan as he felt a wave of warmth cascading over his senses. Unbeknownst to him, Stiles’ Spark had blanketed the Alpha, intensifying their connection and heightening the pleasure even further for him.

“ _Fuck_ … Stiles…” Derek panted, and it was very clearly not a complaint. He swore he could get off untouched from this alone. He squirmed in place, fighting back the desire to surge forward and _kiss and touch and bite and claim_.

Stiles moaned in reply, barely cognizant of the arousal Derek was experiencing because he was so lost in his own. Derek’s blood was intoxicating – liquid power and energy. Stiles could feel his own body growing stronger with each enthusiastic gulp he took. He was nearly overwhelmed with the impulse to shove Derek back and climb atop him, tear at his clothes, let his mouth wander freely in search of more tender places to bite. God, how was he supposed to go back to feeding from deer after _this?_ He held on tighter to the arm in his grasp, bringing his mouth against it more firmly, eliciting a wondrous gasp and growl from Derek in response.

The first flash of memory caused Stiles to flinch and frown.

_A cold arm being pressed forcefully against his mouth… Terror…_

He shook it off, though, using the scents, sounds, warmth, and taste of Derek to ground himself.

The second flash was far more vivid, causing him to whine involuntarily.

_Three sets of cold hands pinning him down…_

_Fangs sinking violently into his inner thigh, wrist, and throat…_

Stiles whimpered in response, holding onto Derek and trying desperately to only focus on him.

“Stiles…?” Derek breathed, tilting his head in confusion and concern. Through the haze of overpowering lust, he caught bits and pieces of Stiles’ memories and emotions, too fragmented at first to understand. Sensing the change in Stiles, Derek was instantly struggling to clear his thoughts as he asked, “What is that?”

The memory rushed on, until finally…

_Excruciating pain…_

Death _._

A choked off sob fell from Stiles’ lips before, in the blink of an eye, he had released Derek’s wrist and fled the room.

Derek fell back against the couch, stunned and disoriented by how abruptly it had ended. He fought to calm his breathing and adjusted himself in his pants, shaking his head to dispel the lingering cloud of desire. Looking down at his wrist, he watched as the bite quickly healed over. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the foreign images and emotions he had encountered.

After a few seconds, his heart dropped into his stomach.

“ _Shit_.” he sighed in realization. “Stiles?” he called as he got up and went looking for him.


	14. Chapter 14

For the record, Derek made a truly valiant effort not to panic during the five _painfully long_ minutes it took to find Stiles. He was still in his vampiric shift, which Derek quickly discovered made him next to impossible to detect. Which, of course, would be awesome… if it were someone ELSE trying to find Stiles.

With no sounds or scents to guide him, Derek was at a loss for what to do. Considering how quickly Stiles could travel, Derek knew that he could be long gone already, but he clung to the hope that Stiles would not leave him like that.

With each passing second, each empty room in the house, he grew steadily more concerned that Stiles might have run off into the Preserve alone. Not that Stiles could not defend himself – I mean, _clearly_ , he could – but Derek kind of needed him to stay close for the foreseeable future.

As in, within Derek’s line of sight at all times.

Preferably, glued to Derek’s side, if at all possible.

Derek strongly suspected that his ever-increasing level of internalized panic was what finally prompted Stiles to clear his throat and give away his location. As Derek listened, he heard the familiar beating of Stiles’ heart resume to guide him. He sighed in immense relief when he laid eyes on him through one of the attic windows.

Seated on the highest point of the roof, Stiles was looking up at the night sky, lost in what were surely traumatic memories.

Derek walked out across the roof slowly and took a seat beside him.

They sat in silence for much longer than Stiles would have managed while human.

“It was because we used my arm…” Derek guessed before asking softly, “The similarities triggered the memory?”

Stiles gave a jerky nod in reply.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said sincerely, and wow, he was saying that a lot tonight, but he really was. His heart ached terribly over the glimpses he had caught. Stiles had died. He fucking _died_. Slowly. Terrified and defenseless and in agony. In a way that felt in so many ways like such a _violation_. With no pack to offer him aid or comfort. And Stiles remembered it all. Vividly. God, Derek could only imagine what was going on inside Stiles’ head. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him into his arms, try to soothe away the memories, shield him from the horror of what had been done to him, and never let anyone harm him again.

“You couldn’t have known,” Stiles answered with a shrug, voice sounding worryingly detached and distant. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Except the ones who did it, but… well, they’re all dead now. So am I, in case you’d forgotten. So, what does any of it matter anymore? It is what it is. Stupid to still get upset over it.”

Derek frowned at the unnervingly familiar way Stiles was shutting down his emotions. He reached out without thought and took Stiles’ hand in his.

“ _Hey_ ,” he whispered, waiting for Stiles to look over at him. “It’s _not_ stupid,” he insisted, shaking his head resolutely. “You’re allowed to feel upset. Or hurt. You’re allowed to cry or scream or be angry. You’re allowed to do whatever it is you feel like you need do to process what happened to you.”

Stiles huffed bitterly and pulled his hand away, using it to wipe away tears. “Oh yeah? Is that what _you_ did to process all the awful shit that’s happened to you? Huh? Did you let it all out?” He scoffed. “The king of repressed emotions is over here giving me advice now. Come on.”

Derek arched a brow at the uncharacteristically cruel edge to Stiles’ voice, knowing all too well what Stiles was doing. He was trying to push Derek away, hoping that if he broached a painful subject for him, Derek would clam up and drop it. The Alpha knew that, not too long ago, it would have worked, and he would have done exactly that. However, he knew it would do nothing to help Stiles.

So, Derek decided to try a different approach. He took a steadying breath and admitted something that no one, aside from Laura, had ever known. “I didn’t speak for nearly five years after my family was killed.”

Stiles went still, then slowly turned to look over at him, realizing the gravity of what he was hearing.

Derek squinted out into the darkened forest in contemplation as he recalled his mindset. “It felt like… damned near every single member of my family died… all because I couldn’t keep my _mouth shut_. I never wanted to hear the sound of my own voice again. So, I figured, why not just commit to staying silent? It could be like penance. I could honor my family by giving up my voice, show them every single day how sorry I was, and keep Laura safe in the process by removing the biggest risk to her safety. So, I just… stopped. Stopped talking… and smiling… and laughing. And as time went on, I stopped more and more. I focused on being as numb and silent and detached as possible. I guess I was in a ‘ _dissociative state’?”_ he said with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know, I mean, I never went to a therapist or anything. I just… I shut down completely because I was too broken to function and it was the only way I could go on living.” He huffed a laugh as he said, “You’ve always joked about how I can say so much with my eyebrows and face. Well… now you know why. It’s because, for years, that was how I communicated.”

“ _Der_ …” Stiles whispered remorsefully, biting back tears. “You don’t have to tell me any of –”

“I know,” the Alpha assured with a nod. “I know I don’t have to. I’m telling you anyway.” His jaw clenched as he forced himself to continue. “I had only just started talking again, little by little, in the year before Laura was killed. She told me it felt like she was living with a ghost, that she missed me and needed her brother back so… I started trying.” He frowned as he recalled the struggle. “It was so much harder to come _back_ from it than it had been to slip into that state. Takes a long time to return from being that disconnected, to remember how to feel and respond. It seemed like I was finally starting to make some progress, just starting to become aware again when she left. And then I came here looking for her and… I found her body and…” He winced and shook his head, looking down at his hands as he said, “Well, when you met me, it’s safe to say that I was not a shining example of mental health.”

Stiles exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. “Jesus, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring it up. And I am so sorry I was such an absolute, unrepentant dick to you back then.”

Derek chuckled at that. “You were. _God_ , you really, _really_ were,” he conceded, laughing as he thought back to what a little shit Stiles had been in the beginning. “But it’s okay. It actually… it actually helped, believe it or not,” he said, with a confused smile. “I was walking around like an exposed nerve. I was so unbelievably angry. And hurt. And scared. And alone. And you were this goofy, utterly ridiculous, outgoing 16-year-old. Part of me really resented you for it – that you could still be that way. But another part of me wanted to keep you safe. You were just this…” He stopped and pressed his lips together, not wanting to verbalize how impossibly fascinating and frustrating he had found Stiles. How incredibly drawn to Stiles’ light he had been. “Everyone else ran away from me and avoided talking to me. Even Scott never really listened to a word I said. But you? You sought me out even when you were terrified of me. You pushed me for answers, made me talk to you, and actually _listened_ to what I had to say. And, God, you _never_ shut up,” he laughed and shook his head.

With a sigh, Derek admitted, “I know you didn’t realize it at the time, but… I was actually relearning how to speak and socialize for…” His eyes went skyward as he considered it. “…basically the entirety of the first year you knew me,” he finished with a nod. “I guess… I still kind of am in a way? I’m clearly still a work in progress,” he said with a shrug. He looked over at Stiles and said softly, “So, in answer to your question, I personally chose _not to_ process what happened to me for as long as possible, and I _don’t_ recommend it. I know it seems easier to shut down, but it doesn’t help. It’s just putting off the inevitable. I didn’t start to recover until I was forced to confront it all. You won’t either. You have to feel it to get through it. So, if that means that this time, _I_ have to play the part of insufferable, ‘ _unrepentant dick_ ’ and force _you_ to talk, fine. And hey, if you need to shove me into a few walls to make yourself feel better, I will completely understand.”

Stiles laughed despite himself at that, smiling over at the Alpha as he asked, “Oh, yeah? Was that the key to your healing journey? Shoving me into walls?”

Derek shrugged and gave a look as if considering it before saying, “Possibly.”

Stiles gave Derek a shove as he snorted, “ _Asshole_.”

He shook his head and looked out into the forest for a moment as they settled into a comfortable silence.

Sighing, Stiles finally said, “I just… I’ve always been a realist, you know? And realistically, nothing matters anymore. I mean, my Dad and the pack, sure. Being here to protect you guys is the only reason I went through all of this. But beyond that?” He shook his head. “It’s all meaningless. Finishing high school? Graduating? Going to college?” He laughed bitterly at how ridiculous it all seemed. “There’s no point, Der. Celebrating my 18th birthday when it gets here? _WHY?_ It’s not like I lived to see 18. Getting married someday? Having kids? Growing old? All of that is gone for me now. All of it. I’m just… _this_. Whatever this even is. Forever. And at this point, if heaven is real, I’m pretty sure I won’t be allowed in, so there goes the chances of reuniting with my Mom once I’m gone.”

Derek’s face fell as he fought back the urge to interrupt or try and comfort him, wanting Stiles to get as much of it out as possible.

“I have lost every… single… goal… and dream I have ever had,” Stiles said, voice straining with emotion. “And I can smile and joke and go through the motions – just keep acting like I’m okay for everyone else’s benefit. It won’t change the fact that, deep down, I don’t have any hope left.” He exhaled sharply at the weight of admitting that out loud for the first time. “I’ve got no hope, Derek,” he repeated weakly. “I’m just a shell. Just hollowed out and empty.” He shrugged as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore. You’re all gonna grow older, get married, start families, and make lives for yourselves and I’ll just be the same. Dead. Trapped and alone until the day I finally give up and decide to let myself fade away. And knowing that just makes me… _sad_ ,” he admitted as he finally broke down. “Like, _really_ _fucking sad_ , man,” he sobbed with a sniffle. He wiped at the tears streaming down his face, fighting them back and forcing a smile as he joked, “Thankfully, I can use my Spark to shield you all from just how epically sad I am all the time now, because believe me, it’s pretty much a pity party around here all day, every day.”

Stiles looked up in surprise as a warm, strong arm was placed around his shoulders and he found himself pulled firmly against Derek’s side.

“We’ll get your hope back,” Derek whispered hoarsely past the lump in his throat.

He wanted to say so many things. To tell Stiles that he would take him any way he could get him. That he still wanted him just as much as he always had. That they would find a way to make it better. But it felt wrong to say any of those things in that moment. Stiles was hurting and his feelings and fears were valid. _Well_ , other than the fear that he would be alone because Derek would never allow that to happen. In fact, that was the one part he could address.

“And you’ll never be alone,” Derek insisted. “ _Never_. You’ll always have me. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles snorted incredulously. “I can just see it now,” he said, holding up his hands as if framing the scene. “You’ll have a big house with a beautiful family and a white picket fence, and I’ll be out in your backyard in my own little vampy doghouse. A mausoleum, perhaps, for your undead pet? A tasteful one, of course. And then your whole brood of genetically superior werewolf pups can come out back to growl and practice their Hale glares on me. It’ll be great! I can’t wait!” he joked bitterly.

Derek frowned severely and shook his head, holding on tighter. “You _are_ my family, you idiot,” he declared resolutely. His beautiful family. His beautiful Stiles. He fought back a smirk at the fact that the house they were currently staying in – the one they were sitting on top of that very moment that he had already designated as ‘theirs’ – just so happened to have a white picket fence out front.

Stiles flinched, brow furrowing as he contemplated Derek’s words. After a moment, he admitted, “I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“You know, this may come as a shock to you, but silence _is_ always an option,” Derek teased.

Stiles huffed in feigned annoyance but decided it might not be a bad idea to keep quiet for a change. After all, how the hell was he supposed to take Derek’s words? ‘ _Family’_ could mean a lot of things. Did he think of Stiles as a brother? A cousin? Although… the timing of Derek’s statement made that seem unlikely. After all, Stiles had been painting a picture of Derek having a ‘beautiful family’ in the sense of having a spouse and children, and Derek had used his words in a way that seemed to indicate he saw _Stiles_ already fulfilling that role.

But which role?

Spouse?

Or adopted, pain in the ass, bloodsucking kid?

“Stiles?” Derek said quietly.

“Hmm?” Stiles answered distractedly.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Derek grumbled as he rested his cheek on top of Stiles’ head. “I swear to God, I can hear it all rattling around in there.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at how Derek was essentially curled around him and he swallowed audibly. “K. This is me. Knocking the little hamster off the wheel and shutting off my brain.”

Derek scoffed. “Oh, I seriously doubt it. That hamster is on speed and I’m pretty sure the little bastard strapped himself to the wheel.”

Stiles snorted and bumped his body into Derek’s side.

They sat quietly for a while until Stiles’ head suddenly tilted to the side.

Derek lifted his own head up slightly as he asked, “What is it?”

“My Dad’s coming,” he announced.

Derek quirked a brow. None of his senses had picked up on it yet. “You can hear his car?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I probably could if I was still in vamp mode, but not while I’m like this. Actually, it’s more like I can just... feel him,” he answered with a shrug.

“Really?” Derek asked in surprise. He turned his head, studying Stiles’ face curiously (all the while trying not to be too distracted by how close they were still sitting… his arm was still wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders… all he would have to do is lean forward just a few more inches to…) Blinking in an effort to clear his thoughts, he asked, “Is that how you knew when the hunters had me?”

Stiles winced and pursed his lips. “ _Sort of…?”_ he answered tentatively. “Uh… so… it turns out that my Spark kinda… bonded to you?” He bit his lips before saying, “Yeah, bonded to you. Let’s go with that.” Because he really did not want to say, ‘ _My Spark took one look at you and decided, ‘That one! I want that one!’ It’s just as crazy over you as I am and evidently keeps constant tabs on you to ensure your wellbeing. It may also sort of be lowkey dating your wolf? Apparently, you and I get no say in that whatsoever_.’

Derek got a perplexed look on his face before realization passed over his features. With an astonished exhale, he said, “I’ve felt it.” He thought back to all the times he had experienced that intense, soul-deep sense of peace in Stiles’ presence recently. The way he somehow managed to sleep better than he had in literally years in Stiles’ desk chair, of all places. “ _Huh_ ,” he said in amusement. “Yeah. I’ve definitely felt it. I had no idea what it _was_ , but I knew it was something to do with you.”

“Yeah… sorry about that,” Stiles offered guiltily.

“Why would you be sorry?” Derek asked, now truly puzzled.

“Well, I don’t know!” Stiles blurted out, holding up his hands and flailing them for emphasis as he went on. “My magic is apparently… _touching you…_ in the privacy of your own home without my knowledge _or_ your consent. I figured that might warrant an apology.”

Derek chuckled and assured, “It’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

Stiles mentally braced himself before looking up at Derek (and Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, he was even more beautiful up close. Seriously. Not a freakin’ flaw to be found on the guy. Even the line of his beard was cut with laser precision and yeah, he really needed to stop looking at that stubbly jaw immediately.) Resolutely keeping his eyes _away_ from Derek’s lips (he squinted and bit his own due to the stress of exercising such restraint), he asked, “It’s not? What does it feel like?”

Derek swallowed audibly as they held eye contact. He briefly wondered whether Stiles could smell how affected he was by their proximity, by the beauty of those amber eyes. “Like… home,” he answered quietly. “Like safety. It just… it calms something in me. Settles my wolf.” He smiled warmly as he admitted, “It’s probably the reason I keep passing out in your room.”

Stiles laughed at that. “Yeah, well… the first time I caught it being sneaky and latching onto you, you looked pretty tired. I think it wanted to help.” He shrugged. “Glad to hear that it does. And… when those bastards grabbed you, I just… felt it. Felt what was wrong. I probably got to the loft in about two minutes flat. Pretty sure I broke the land-speed record barefoot.”

“You were only wearing pajama pants,” Derek recalled with a smirk before asking in disbelief, “You really walked right into a building full of hunters with no shirt or shoes?”

“ _No shoes, no shirt, and I still get service – watch!”_ Stiles sang in amusement, snapping his fingers and doing a little wiggle in place.

Judging by the groan Derek gave before laughing, it was clear he got the reference. 

After a few seconds, Stiles reminded with an incredulous look, “Look, all I knew was that you had been violently abducted in the middle of the night. Did you expect me to stop and concern myself with fashion?”

Derek chuckled. “Fashion? No. But…” He shrugged, holding up his hands and scrunching up his face as he said, “… _boxers_ , maybe?”

Stiles let out a clip of loud, embarrassed laughter before clamping a hand over his mouth. “Okay. That’s fair,” he mumbled behind his hand before removing it. “I had totally forgotten I did all of that whilst going commando,” he admitted. “But hey, in my defense, I hadn’t planned on needing to come to your rescue when I got into bed that night.” He frowned. “Earlier tonight? Last night? Or wait… what night was that, by the way?” he asked, face contorted in confusion.

“Not last night, but the night before,” Derek answered. His head turned as he realized in amazement that he was _finally_ able to hear the Sheriff’s car in the distance. Stiles’ abilities were clearly far superior to his own.

And didn’t that just make his wolf preen and want to rub his scent all over Stiles even more than usual? Just leave behind an embedded, scented declaration of, ‘ _Mine. MY Stiles. Back the fuck up. This is mine now. All mine.’_ He gave in to the instinct a little, unable to deny it completely. Shifting his arm, he caused Stiles to nestle in further under it and casually pressed his armpit firmly against Stiles’ shoulder. (Effectively stamping in bold, red, indelible, werewolf ink: _Property of Derek Hale. Other wolves need not apply_.) His hand flexed where it was draped over Stiles’ bicep, palm discretely dragging over his bare skin. His wolf rumbled in approval as he inhaled slowly, catching their intermingled scents.

Stiles nodded before sighing and saying, “We should probably head inside. No matter how many times I’ve reminded my Dad that I’m not fragile anymore, he still gets freaked out seeing me on the roof. I’ve already put enough strain on his heart as it is.”

Derek stood and, on reflex, reached out to take Stiles’ hand and help him up. He also kept a firm grip on that hand until they had climbed back in through the window.

Stiles smiled knowingly. It seemed the Sheriff was not the only one struggling with the concept of Stiles no longer needing his protection.


	15. Chapter 15

“Sheriff,” Derek greeted as he opened the front door, inclining his head to the older man.

“Derek,” Noah answered, smiling lightly at the markedly more relaxed expression on the werewolf’s face. “Feeling better now that he’s up and moving around again?” he guessed, huffing a laugh at the way Derek’s eyes widened slightly in response to being called out. “Oh, trust me, I get it. It takes some getting used to, seeing him like that and convincing yourself that he’ll get back up again.” He put down a few bags and turned his attention to Stiles as his son entered the room. “Hey, kiddo. Brought you your phone and laptop. Oh, and some more clothes, too. Wasn’t sure how long you were going to be over here.”

“Pops,” he greeted with a grin as he hugged his father. “Thank you. I was freaking swimming in Derek’s clothes when I woke up. I’m sure I looked pitiful.”

Derek’s jaw flexed and he looked down at his boots as he suppressed a smile at the memory. Of all the words his brain supplied to describe the image of Stiles wearing his clothing, ‘pitiful’ was definitely not one.

Noah quirked a brow and squeezed his son tighter in assessment, finding his arms a bit fuller than usual. He took a step back, keeping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and taking in his appearance. “Were you really? Because – I gotta say – these are looking kind of tight on you.”

Stiles gave him an incredulous look before glancing down at himself, prepared to deny his father’s claim. He was surprised to find that his Dad was correct, though. The arms of his shirt were a bit snug around his biceps, and the material was a little tight across the chest. He scrunched up his face in confusion until something occurred to him.

Stiles’ jaw dropped open slightly as he narrowed his eyes. “ _Daaadd_ …. did you shrink my clothes again?” he asked suspiciously.

Noah’s shoulders slumped as he groaned, “Oh my God, Stiles. Would you let it go already? It was _one_ time!”

“One – _one time?”_ Stiles sputtered with wide eyes. “Dad, it was a _limited-edition_ Death Note t-shirt featuring the single use of that Takeshi Obata art print!” he insisted, hands flailing wildly in indignation. “I had to order it direct from Japan and pay a ton for shipping insurance. And I only got to wear it _twice_ before you _shrunk_ _it_ so severely that I couldn’t even squeeze it onto my Ryuk plushie. So yeah. You _do_ still get to hear about that. The question stands: did you do it again?”

“No, I did not, _‘do it again’_ ,” Noah answered, tipping his head from side to side as he playfully mocked Stiles’ words back to him. “For your information, I got those clothes out of your drawer. _You’re_ the one who washed them last.”

“Huh. A likely story.” Stiles scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave his father a suspicious look.

Derek, who had been watching in amusement while the father and son bickered, took the excuse to let his eyes pass over Stiles’ clothes. His brows drew together as he realized… the clothes _did_ look tight. And the clothes very definitely did _not_ look tight when Stiles put them on after getting out of the shower. (Derek would know. He had spent a considerable amount of time discretely checking Stiles out since then.)

An intriguing potential explanation formed in the back of Derek’s thoughts and his wolf was instantly elated by the possibility. He dismissed it for now, but he fully intended to put his theory to the test at the next possible opportunity.

_______________________________________________

The Stilinski men continued their playful squabbling until the Sheriff finally had to head out to start his shift. Once he was gone, Derek called for Stiles to follow him out the backdoor of the house.

They made their way into the Preserve with Stiles ranting away, filling the silence with idle chatter for the first few minutes.

It was shortly after sunrise when Stiles said abruptly, “Okay, spill. Why do you have your broody brows on?”

“What? I do not,” Derek denied a bit too quickly, not to mention pointlessly, because his eyebrows were very clearly still locked and loaded in their lowest position, drawn together so closely they were nearly touching.

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look and blinked repeatedly, waiting for Derek to cave.

Rolling his eyes, Derek finally sighed, “I was just… thinking… about the sun,” he said, squinting up at the sky distrustfully. “It really doesn’t hurt you at all?”

A smile tugged at Stiles’ lips, relaxed and fond as he realized Derek was just in Worrywolf mode. “It doesn’t hurt. I promise. My Spark basically acts like a layer of defense.” Considering it for a moment, he asked, “Hey, do you wanna see it?”

Derek’s eyes widened at the offer and he nodded instantly, stopping short as Stiles turned and came to stand in front of him.

“Okay. Hang on, I’ve actually never tried this, but… I think… in theory…” Stiles muttered, looking down at his arms. “I mean, I’ve felt it trying to show itself to you before, so hopefully it’s not feeling shy,” he joked. After a few seconds, a swirl of amber light slowly glowed into view. “ _There_ it is!” he said with a proud grin.

Derek stepped closer, watching in open awe as the light danced across Stiles’ form, curling around his entire body like smoke. “It’s incredible,” Derek declared. He reached out slowly, running his fingers just above Stiles’ forearm, skimming the edge of the light. He smiled broadly at the warm sensation of the Spark, then let out an astonished laugh when it pulsed brightly in response to his touch.

“Thanks. It seems to think you’re pretty cool, too,” Stiles chuckled.

Derek grinned, watching the light swirl up to cover his hand. “Yeah, well… my wolf acts the same way towards you.” Realizing what he had just admitted, Derek’s heart skipped at least five consecutive beats.

Stiles, though, seemed to already know this as he merely sighed in response, “Yeah. Our wayward kids.”

Derek quirked a bemused brow at the comment and looked to Stiles for an explanation.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he sputtered, “Not like… _OUR_ kids… as in… _together_. I meant like… OUR kids individually. _Separately_. It’s… wow.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Okay, let me start over. My Spark and your wolf have been seeking one another out, so I sort of started thinking of them like a couple of rebellious teenagers. You know, sneaking out at night to meet up and…” He stopped abruptly and held up a finger as he declared in a strained voice, “And… I am going to stop right there because it occurs to me that I did not properly think through verbalizing the rest of that analogy.”

Derek dipped his head in an effort to hide his smile and blush, but the tips of his ears gave him away as always. He cleared his throat and took a step back, laughing again as he watched a tendril of Stiles’ Spark follow, staying connected to his hand. He brought it closer to his face as he said, “It looks like an aura… but I can’t see it when my eyes shift like I can with other creatures.”

Stiles considered that for a minute. “Maybe because I want to keep it hidden?” he guessed. “A lot of the time, it seems to respond to my needs without me having to think about it. I mean, if you could see it with your eyes shifted, then so could the rest of the pack, you know? Which, now that I think about it, explains why it’s been pushing to show off to you while we’re here alone,” he said in amusement.

They stayed there for another few minutes, Derek marveling at the beauty of Stiles’ Spark while it pulsed delightedly at the recognition. When they finally set out again, it grudgingly faded from view. Derek smirked as he felt its warmth continue to roll over his hand.

After a minute, Derek’s head tilted as he said, “So… back to what I was asking about the sun. If you run out of magic like you did when you saved me, does that mean you won’t be able to protect yourself?”

Stiles considered it as he climbed over a fallen tree. “Yeah. I mean, if I totally drain my batteries, I can’t do anything. Not even keep up human appearances.”

Derek glanced over at him, noting that Stiles had not been bothered at all by his own words. They had rolled off his tongue without a hint of shame. Derek took a few seconds to appreciate that fact, even if Stiles did not seem to notice the significance. He was immensely relieved that Stiles was feeling so at ease and relaxed in his presence.

“Could the sun kill you at that point?” Derek asked worriedly. “I need to know your weaknesses so I can protect you.”

Holding back a pleased smile at Derek’s continued desire to keep him safe, Stiles answered, “It wouldn’t like _obliterate_ me. I mean, I wouldn’t go, ‘Poof!’ or anything quite so dramatic. Think of it more like the way wolfsbane affects you if it gets on your skin. It would burn me and hurt like a bitch. And the longer I was exposed, the worse the damage would be. But basically, you’d just need to cover me up and get me inside somewhere as soon as possible. I’m not going to be sunbathing at any point, but it wouldn’t instantly wipe me out or anything.”

Derek hummed in reply as he considered this. “What about the weaknesses people generally attribute to vampires? Garlic? Holy water? Religious iconography? A stake to the heart?”

Stiles glanced over at Derek impishly before saying, “You have _no idea_ how badly I want to reply with a bitchy, ‘ _No, you idiot!’”_ He did a fair impression of Derek, but the Alpha did not seem to catch on. Seeing the curious look on Derek’s face, he elbowed him and said, “Remember? Like you said to me when I asked if you’d been shot with a silver bullet?”

Derek scowled at him, but it was more playful than anything. “I was a little too busy _dying_ to be polite.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles huffed. “Well, seeing as how I am not currently in agonizing pain, I suppose I should rise above the impulse to taunt you.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Derek deadpanned.

“I thought so, too,” Stiles agreed with a grin. “But back to your question: no issues on the first three items,” he assured. “I obviously haven’t tested the last one out as I’m in no hurry to stab myself in the chest, but from what I’ve been able to determine on my own, anything from the sacred trees could potentially be majorly problematic for me – whether they pierce my skin or if I ingest them. I mean, I can still cross a line of mountain ash, but it severely burns my tongue.”

“Burns your _tongue?”_ Derek repeated in disbelief. “How the hell did you…? Why would you even think to _try_ that?”

Stiles shrugged. “What? You know how thorough I am when I research. And, like you said, gotta know my weaknesses if I want to stay safe.”

Derek grudgingly conceded that he had a point. As much as it bothered him to think of Stiles deliberately exposing himself to all manner of dangers, it really was the only way to find out what would affect him. Stiles was an utterly unique creature now with his own set of rules.

“It was all very safe, I promise,” Stiles continued. “Lydia and Peter supervised, and I tried, like, _miniscule_ quantities of things to see if there was any reaction, before gradually increasing them to make sure they were safe. Mountain ash on the tongue? Reacted instantly and hurt like hell even in small amounts. So let’s just make sure I don’t accidentally ingest any of that crap.”

Derek frowned, not wanting to consider Stiles being hurt at all. His mind was already laying out different scenarios of Stiles being attacked. Being staked. Using up all of his Spark. He could see Stiles collapsing – whether as a result of his leash or due to exhaustion – and being trapped out in the elements in his vampiric shift. Being discovered by a hunter. Or a regular citizen. There were so many ways that situation could spiral from bad to worse… He shuddered.

After a moment, Derek asked, “Hey, can you make another necklace – this time for yourself? Something inconspicuous that can’t be removed by anyone other than you? One that can… I don’t know… act like a backup battery for basic functions? Maybe store a bit of your Spark so that – in the event you run out of magic and lose consciousness – it can protect you from the sun and maintain your Spark shift appearance? And maybe protect you from being harmed by the sacred trees, too?

Stiles’ eyes widened and he stopped walking to look over at Derek in amazement. “That… is a really, _seriously_ good idea.”

Derek gave Stiles a flat look. “I’ve been known to have those occasionally.”

Stiles reached for his back pocket and frowned, obviously expecting something to be there. “Damn it. I don’t have my journal,” he muttered. “Guess this’ll have to do,” he sighed as he pulled out his phone.

He unlocked the screen and closed the messages app (noting in amusement the text replies his father had sent to Scott and a few of the others informing them that Stiles had lost his phone privileges and was ‘SO incredibly grounded’ for some unnamed offense. Stiles would have to think of something. Maybe he could say he got caught logging into the police database again?) Opening a blank note, he started typing ideas for the new piece of jewelry.

“I think maybe a ring would be better,” Stiles decided, thinking aloud. “It wouldn’t raise any suspicion if someone couldn’t pull it off my finger. They’d just figure it couldn’t slip past my knuckle.” He typed for a minute before his eyes widened. “And hey… if I really could find a way to protect myself from sacred trees, maybe I could make enchanted rings for you and the rest of the wolves to protect you all from wolfsbane!” His eyes lit up excitedly. “ _Oooohhh_ I can’t wait to plan this! You, sir, totally just earned yourself an invite to the next Team Dead brainstorming session.”

“Team… Dead?” Derek repeated in amusement, trying to distract from his delight over seeing Stiles so genuinely excited about something.

“Uh huh,” Stiles answered distractedly. “Me, Lydia, Peter. You know. The veil-touched members of your merry little band of misfits.”

His nimble fingers continued dancing across the phone’s screen for a few more minutes, and Derek kept glancing over at him fondly.

“Annnddd… saved,” Stiles said before locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. “How much further do we need to walk?” he asked as Derek set out again, realizing that they were well into the Preserve by now.

“Not too much farther,” Derek answered simply.

“Right. And what game are we playing?” Stiles asked with a smile, walking backwards a few feet in front of Derek and facing the Alpha. His smile widened as he noted how anxious Derek instantly became – the way he kept tensing as if preparing to reach out and catch Stiles at any moment. It seemed that Derek had not yet caught on to the fact that Stiles was no longer a perpetually clumsy train wreck.

Stiles suddenly realized in surprise that he was actually looking forward to showing off what he could do. Derek’s response to him so far had given him a bit of confidence, it seemed.

“We’re not _playing_. We’re training,” Derek answered, mouth drawn tight and brows down low as his eyes worriedly tracked Stiles’ movements.

“To- _may_ -to, To- _mah_ -to,” Stiles said, waving it off and closing his eyes, tipping his head back dramatically. He snickered at the way Derek’s breath caught in concern, as if he fully expected Stiles to tumble backwards and break his neck at any given moment. “I can still have fun while we’re training. Hey, we could even play tag if you want!”

In the blink of an eye, Stiles let his vampiric shift take over. Without warning, he bolted off to the side with impossible speed, kicking up a cloud of leaves and instantly disappearing into the trees.

Derek’s boots dug into the dirt as he skidded to a startled halt. His eyes were opened comically wide as he stared off in the direction Stiles had gone. His ears strained to detect him for nearly a minute before…

“ _Tag, you’re it_.” Stiles whispered directly behind him, close enough for Derek to feel his cool breath on the shell of his ear. 

Derek let loose a startled growl as he spun to face him.

Stiles clutched his stomach and cackled gleefully. “ _YES!”_ he shouted in victory and did a fist pump. “I can finally sidle up on _you_ for a change! Oh my God, I am going to do this every damned day!” he declared before returning to laughing raucously.

Derek stayed rooted in place, gaping at Stiles for a full minute. He was absolutely floored by Stiles’ abilities, but mostly, he was overjoyed by the sound of Stiles’ uproarious laughter.

When Stiles settled back down, he gave Derek a curious look and stepped closer, obsidian eyes shining with interest and nose twitching (adorably, Derek noted) as he took hurried inhalations.

“See, this part I can’t do. What is _that?”_ Stiles asked, genuinely intrigued. “You’re feeling something, and it smells… bright?” he said, struggling to put it to words. He closed his eyes, letting his nose lead him closer still until he was just a couple of feet away. “And sharp. And warm. And… _yellow?”_ he said, opening his eyes and making a baffled face. “That makes absolutely no sense, but it’s true.” He looked down at his chest in confusion, clutching at it as he tried to describe what he was experiencing. “And it makes my chest tight, but in a good way?” He huffed in annoyance. “I don’t know how to make sense of smells. It’s a language I can’t speak yet. It’s like, your scent is over here yelling at me in German or something, and I can _hear_ the words, but I have no idea what any of them mean.”

Derek’s lips pressed together in a firm, fond smile as he admitted, “I’m _happy_ because you’re laughing.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and lips parted in wonder. “That’s what happy Sourwolf smells like?” he asked, smiling shyly at being the cause for it. He knew if he were in his Spark shift, he would be full-on blushing.

Derek dipped his head in embarrassment as he sighed, “Yeah. And it’s suddenly occurring to me that, by training you, I’m going to make you even better at reading me than you were before. Which is…” he squinted as he decided how to finish that sentence. “…a little terrifying.” he teased.

A slightly tense silence settled over them, and it was clear they were both realizing the same thing: If they were going to be focusing on Derek translating scents while they worked closely together, at some point in the near future, they were going to have to acknowledge the thus far unaddressed and intense arousal swirling around them.

Derek cleared his throat and motioned for them to continue down the path. “Today, I want to focus on your Spark shift and your ability to tap into your heightened senses while it’s in place.”

“Okay, activating: _Instant Kill._ Oh, wait, no. That’s definitely THIS shift,” Stiles joked, motioning to his current vampy appearance. “So, I guess it’s more like, activating: _Imitation Alive_ ,” he amended just before his illusions flared back into place. “There we go.”

“And you’re even wearing your Spiderman shirt,” Derek noted. “This must be a proud moment for you.”

Stiles gaped at him. “Uh – _yeah!_ Proud of the fact that you actually knew I was quoting Spiderman! Honestly, knowing that I am responsible for your knowledge of the Marvel Universe fills me with such profound joy,” he gushed in feigned (genuine) adoration as he clutched his chest.

Derek shook his head, walking for another few minutes before stopping in a clearing.

“So, what’s the plan?” Stiles asked curiously. 

“I’m going to hide. You’re going to rely only on your senses to find me,” Derek answered.

“Says the guy who _insisted_ we aren’t out here playing,” Stiles scoffed. “This is literally Hide and Seek. And, not to point out the obvious flaw in your all-knowing Alpha logic or anything, but my Spark can feel you. Not much of a challenge if I already know where you are all the time.”

“I actually had an idea on how to handle that…” Derek said, taking a step closer and meeting Stiles’ gaze directly. He let his eyes flare to red as he stated firmly, “While we train, I do not want your Spark to track me as long as I remain within the boundaries of the Preserve and within 10 miles of you. If I venture outside of that area, it means something is wrong, and your Spark can track my location and keep you aware of it. Unless that happens, your Spark cannot offer you any aid in tracking anyone near you unless it senses imminent danger, but it can alert you to the presence of anyone it does not already trust, on the off chance you come across a hiker or hunter.”

Stiles frowned and gave an incredulous laugh. “Uh, yeah. No. I don’t think it’s as simple as th– _Oh SHIT!”_ he blurted out, eyes going wide as he felt the sudden change. It was as if an entire branch of his Spark abruptly switched off. It was deeply disconcerting, and he immediately tried to get it back to no avail. He stared up at Derek in disbelief. “How the hell did you do that?”

Derek grinned, deeply pleased that his hunch had been right. “You said your Spark bonded to me. That it wants to help me. It recognizes me as your Alpha,” he said, shrugging as if it were obvious. “I figured it would follow my request without an issue – I didn’t even need to command it. You know…” he began before stepping around Stiles to walk off toward the trees. “…your Spark actually seems to be the most cooperative part of you.”

Stiles put his hands on his hips and scowled after him. “Because my Spark’s a shameless magical hussy,” he muttered once Derek was a good 50 feet away.

“What was that?” Derek called back, still grinning as he turned and walked backwards away from Stiles.

“You heard me,” Stiles answered quietly, knowing the Alpha could.

Derek, feeling puckish as a result of their playful banter all morning, said loudly, “I did. Now, see if you can hear _me_.” He waited for Stiles to catch his meaning, then called, “Ready?”

Stiles pursed his lips and quirked them sideways, struggling to concentrate on the sounds from a distance. He gave a nod and strained to hear. 

Derek’s pulse raced, caught between wanting Stiles to hear him and seriously hoping he didn’t. In barely more than a whisper, he teased, _“Your Spark wants to submit to me… And your vampiric side wants to devour me… What exactly do_ you _want to do to me?”_

Stiles’ growl of frustration and head shake made it clear that Derek’s question had not carried.

Derek swallowed in relief (and disappointment.)

“Too bad!” Derek called back loudly. “I’m sure you would’ve gotten a kick out of that.”

“Aww, no fair!” Stiles pouted. “I wanna know what you said!”

Derek turned and walked off into the trees as he called back, “Then I suggest you work on your hearing!”

_______________________________________________

It was nearly two hours later, and Stiles was beyond frustrated. He could totally picture Derek somewhere nearby, lounging in the shade listening to him grumbling to himself.

Stiles was really struggling. Several times so far, he had accidentally triggered his full vampiric shift and had to change back quickly, not wanting to cheat the game. Sorry, ‘ _training_.’

His sense of smell had been a bust. Try as he might, he just could not get it to heighten.

Shaking his head in irritation, he strained to make his ears pick up sounds from a distance. 

“Come on…” he pleaded under his breath.

What the hell was the problem? He had done this once with his sense of smell, damn it. He _had_ to be able to do it again. I mean, granted, that time he had been motivated by wanting to smell Derek up close and personal. So, maybe that was the trick? Reminding himself that Derek was the motivation?

And oh, shit… did he just accidentally realize that Derek was his anchor?

His eyes widened, then quickly returned to normal because – well, fucking _duh_. Of course Derek was his anchor. Derek was his everything. All the things he ever wished for. All the things he knew he could never have but could never seem to stop himself from reaching towards. Like stretching out his fingers into the sky, desperate to touch the moon and stars, knowing it was a futile effort but unable to stop imagining what it could be like.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Nope. Totally not the time to think about any of that.

Exhaling slowly, he decided to try and tempt his Spark into behaving. It certainly seemed sentient enough. It had listened to Derek, after all. Maybe it would listen to him, too.

_Alright, listen up, Sparky. Or wait… Spark_ le _?_ He frowned thoughtfully. _Are you a girl? Can magic even have a gender? Does it have to match the gender of the wielder? Because, I have to say, you feel surprisingly feminine… I mean, maybe it’s just the whole soft, glowing, graceful tendrils thing that makes my brain go ‘female!’_

After a few seconds, he sighed and let it go.

_Whatever. We’ll figure out a name for you later. Anyway, right now, I really need you to focus. We’re looking for Derek out here. You know – Derek. The big, smoking hot Alpha werewolf you love swirling all over and I wish I could climb like a tree?_

His Spark pulsed in eager interest.

Stiles snorted in amusement.

_Right. That guy. And man, you are definitely my Spark because – seriously?_ **SAME** _. But listen, we need to find him. And we need to follow the rules he gave your ridiculously submissive sparkly self. So, if we could just find a way to use a_ bit _of those vampy senses while –_

_Wait. No. Not ALL of them! God damn it!_

He growled thunderously as his vampiric shift triggered yet again.

Shifting back in frustration, he refocused.

_Okay. Let’s try this one last time before I just call it a day and we go home without seeing Derek._

His Spark gave an unpleasant tremor in response.

Stiles smiled knowingly.

_Hey, don’t blame me! I’m trying here, but I need you on board, too. Let’s take it step by step. I need to stay warm and alive-looking… Gotta keep my pulse and all the other painstakingly crafted human aspects in place…_

_But also tap into the vampy hearing…_

_Just a little bit at a time…_

_Come on… Come on…_

Gradually, as if someone were sluggishly turning a manual volume control dial, the forest sounds around him began to intensify. He smiled, hearing his own pulse pick up in excitement that it was working at least a little.

_YES! That’s it. Okay… a little bit louder…_

_Excellent. Now… Let’s see if we can find ourselves an Alpha._

He closed his eyes and focused, rooting through hundreds of individual sounds. Birds and squirrels and falling leaves and a river off to the east and ewww was that bugs? Was he seriously hearing creepy crawling bugs skittering around? Gross. He let each sound shift to the center of his attention before dismissing it as irrelevant.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of searching, he found the deep, galloping rhythm:

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

His gums ached with the urge to drop fangs – his vampiric side recalling all too well the taste of that particular pulse. His Spark thrummed exuberantly in recognition of the source. _DEREK._

Stiles’ lips spread into a full grin as he slowly opened his eyes.

It shifted into a frown when the sound swiftly started to fade, his mind unable to maintain focus when he added another source of sensory input.

“Fuck! No, no, no! I _had_ it!” he yelled in frustration.

Taking a deep breath, he bit his lips and tried again – this time, with his eyes open. He found that – now that he knew what to look for – he was able to lock onto the rhythm with surprising ease.

“YES! Freaking finally,” he sighed before heading out in the direction of the pulse.

He tromped along through the woods for fifteen minutes before he found him.

Derek was perched atop a massive rock, hands folded in his lap and feet dangling off the edge, watching his approach with a dazzling grin on his face. He could not keep the pride from his voice as he praised, “Nice work. I even moved around after I heard you heading my way to make it harder,” he admitted. “Did you track me by scent or sound?”

Stiles shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets as he made his way closer. “Took forever, but I finally managed to hear you. Your heart sounds like a freaking kettle drum out here.”

Derek’s head tipped back as he laughed at that – a loud, honest laugh that Stiles was absolutely certain he had never heard before. It brought him to a complete halt, gazing up at the Alpha in slack jawed wonder. Christ, he didn’t think the man could _be_ any more beautiful. Now he was going to start laughing on top of smiling and grinning regularly? God help him.

“Yeah, well,” Derek huffed. “Yours always sounds like a jackrabbit. It’s how I knew it was off when you were working out the kinks in your Spark shift. It sounded too normal. And you? You don’t do _anything_ ‘normal,’” he teased.

Stiles would have felt insulted by the remark were it not for the soft smile on Derek’s lips and the undeniably affectionate glint in his gaze. Clearing his throat, Stiles averted his eyes. He steadfastly refused to joke about Derek’s ill-advised use of the word ‘ _kinks’_ in his presence. No. Stiles would rise above the temptation and not go for the low hanging fruit.

“So, what now? We head back?” Stiles asked.

“In a bit,” Derek said as he slid off the rock and landed gracefully on his feet. “First, we spar.”

Stiles sputtered in disbelief. “ _Spar?_ Dude, I’m not gonna freaking spar with you.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek responded automatically before asking, “And why not?”

“Well, because… you… I…” Stiles curled a lip and grimaced as his brain drew a blank. He realized suddenly that his refusal was reflexive, that his brain had apparently not yet reconciled the fact that they could actually do this now. “Huh. I guess there isn’t really a reason anymore,” he admitted.

“Good. Because I want to see what you can do,” Derek said, pulling his Henley off over his head and tossing it to the side, leaving his upper body clad in one of his damnably tight tank tops.

Stiles blinked and bit his lips, eyes squinting as he struggled not to survey the goods that were now so brazenly on display. “K.” he wheezed weakly.

“Have you ever done any kind of hand-to-hand training?” Derek asked curiously. He knew that he, personally, had never instructed Stiles, but that did not mean he was a total blank slate.

“Uh…” Stiles looked up at the trees in an effort to make it easier to think clearly. (Not think ‘ _straight’_ because, well, his bi ass was obviously never going to accomplish _that_ – least of all in Derek’s presence.) “When I was like 12 my Dad made me take these self-defense classes they were giving at the station. But I remember basically none of that. And, honestly, up until now, the thought of me trying to punch my way out of dangerous situations was utterly ridiculous. Like, could you have seen _me_ punching _Ennis?_ Or Deucalion? Or Peter back when he was still homicidally crazy-cakes? I think not. My mouth has always been my only reliable means of defense.”

Derek drew a breath, lips parting and words just about to tumble out before he stopped himself from saying, _‘Well, it is pretty damned impressive.’_ He drew a hand over his own mouth, willing it to keep any thoughts like that from escaping. “Right. We’ll start from the beginning then.”

For the next hour, Derek focused on teaching Stiles the basics: how to properly throw punches and land kicks, how to break out of holds and use an enemy’s momentum and weight against them. Stiles caught on quickly, and the two of them somehow commendably managed to ignore their suffocating UST in order to get the job done.

Once Derek was satisfied with Stiles’ form and grasp of the fundamentals, they started testing it out. At first, it was slow and steady. They circled one another, watching for openings and taking practice swings.

Eventually, on a hunch, Derek put a bit of his Alpha strength and speed behind one of the hits. Just as he suspected, Stiles was able to dodge it effortlessly. What he was not prepared for, however, was Stiles’ follow-through. In one fluid, reflexive motion, Stiles slid around behind him and planted a foot in the center of his back, shoving hard enough to send Derek stumbling forward a few steps.

Derek let out a surprised laugh at being so easily bested. When he turned to face Stiles, he found a stunned look on the teen’s face.

“Didn’t realize you could do that, huh?” Derek asked knowingly.

“No. I really didn’t,” Stiles admitted before crying, “That was freaking awesome!” His eyes lit up excitedly as he got back into a fighting stance and motioned for Derek to come at him again. “Come on. Keep going,” he urged.

_______________________________________________

The morning passed quickly as they lost track of time, both fully engrossed in testing Stiles’ limits. The teen took to fighting like a fish to water and Derek was beyond proud of his progress and focus.

The Alpha had always known that, were Stiles to ever be bitten, he would prove to be the fastest learner in the pack. Of course, when Derek had occasionally considered ( _fantasized about_ ) Stiles being turned, Derek had imagined himself giving the bite (in various dramatic, heroic, lifesaving, and/or steamy scenarios.) Derek refused to be disappointed by the way things had panned out, though. He chose to focus on being thankful for the fact that Stiles was still with him.

As noon approached, Derek stopped to grab his bottle of water and check his phone, discretely firing off a few texts in the process. He returned to sparring a moment later, keeping his features carefully blank to avoid giving away his next training tactic.

Half an hour later, he and Stiles had just finished grappling. Breaking out of a hold, Stiles had managed to flip Derek off of his back and toss him to the other side of the clearing.

Derek chuckled as he got to his feet, dusting off his hands and giving an impressed nod. “You’re really good at this,” he declared, holding Stiles’ gaze while the teen blushed at the praise.

Stiles had just opened his mouth to mutter his shy thanks when he caught movement over Derek’s shoulder. Someone was rushing up behind the Alpha, ducked down low and coming in fast. Stiles’ eyes went wide, and before he could even think of what to do, his hand outstretched reflexively.

“Derek, look out!” he heard himself call as a wall of amber light erupted behind the Alpha.

A pained groan came a second later, and Derek turned to find his uncle suspended in the air mid-pounce, frozen in place and wincing. Stiles shuffled forward in a stunned daze, coming to stand beside Derek and stare at Peter in astonishment.

“You can let me go any time now,” Peter wheezed. “This is actually quite uncomfortable.”

Stiles blinked and shook his head, willing his power to recede.

Peter dropped to the ground in a heap, grunting and letting out a relieved sigh. “Much appreciated.”

It was not until Stiles turned his head that he realized what had just happened. Derek was standing tall, powerful arms crossed over his broad chest, and he was positively beaming – the very picture of a proud Alpha.

Stiles gasped. “You _planned_ this!”

“I did,” Derek confirmed unashamedly.

“Wh- why would you _do_ that?” Stiles shouted as he flailed, unsure of how he felt about this. He should be mad… right? “What if I’d killed him?” he demanded.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Derek declared confidently.

“I volunteered,” Peter announced, holding up an arm. (Please note that he was still lying on the ground.)

“See? He volunteered,” Derek repeated flatly.

Stiles sputtered indignantly. “Well, **I** sure as shit didn’t!”

Derek arched a brow over at him, turning his body so that broad chest was directed his way. Stiles blinked rapidly to keep his eyes locked on Derek’s face.

“I told you I was going to train you, Stiles,” Derek reminded. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I wanted to see how you would react to an unanticipated threat when you could only use non-lethal means. Keyword: _unanticipated_. The exercise wouldn’t have worked if I’d asked your permission first.” He motioned over to where his uncle was only just attempting to slowly get back onto his feet. “Your Spark trusts Peter. I knew it wouldn’t kill him – just restrain him.”

Stiles remained frozen in place for several seconds while he considered this. He had to admit, as far as training went, it had been remarkably effective. He had just discovered a nifty new trick to use in future fights, after all.

His jaw dropped open as something suddenly dawned on him. “You sneaky bastard! You told my Spark it couldn’t track anyone near me, only alert me to the presence of _‘anyone it does not already trust._ ’ You knew you were gonna pull this stunt and snuck in a carefully-worded rule to help you pull it off.” He narrowed his eyes and gave Derek a light scowl. “I don’t know how I feel about you being so familiar with how to handle my Spark… Just how often _is_ it ‘touching’ you, anyway?” he joked.

Derek rolled his eyes and the corner of his lips tugged in a hint of a smile. Given their audience, he chose not to answer that question. “I’m simply trusting my wolf’s instincts where it’s concerned.”

Stiles snorted at that. “Yea, well, my Spark is nothing but sugar and spice and everything nice when it comes to your wolf, big guy. It literally _incinerates_ other people, but your wolf? Basically gets the magical equivalent of belly rubs and ear scratches all day long. No wonder its instincts are to trust it.”

Derek gave him a mock glare at the comment.

Peter cast a thoroughly amused look between the other two.

Catching the mischievous glint in Peter’s eye, Stiles held up a finger in warning. “Nope. Not a word or I will put a whammy on you again and leave you out here like a statue for the rest of the day.”

With a wince, Peter chose to leave it alone for now.

“How was it, by the way?” Derek asked curiously. “Did it do any damage?”

“No damage, just extreme discomfort,” Peter assured. “It took a bit for my muscles to ease up again. Other than that, no complaints. He could safely use that move on humans if the need arose.”

“And how draining was it?” Derek asked Stiles as his eyes slid over him appraisingly.

Stiles considered it for a moment before giving an impressed nod. “Barely took any energy.”

“Good,” Derek said before summarizing, “So, this morning you managed to use your enhanced hearing while in your Spark shift, learned the basics of fighting, got in solid a few hours of sparring, _and_ discovered a non-lethal means of restraining enemies. Not bad for your first day.”

“Yeah…” Stiles agreed, feeling a sense of pride in all that he had accomplished. “Hey, you’re actually kinda awesome at this training stuff,” he commended. He tilted his head to the side in consideration as he added, “Like a big… growly… muscley… Yoda.”

Derek blinked and gave him an unimpressed look. “No.” he said flatly as he turned to head back to the house.

“Mr. Miyagi?” Stiles offered with a grin as he trailed along after him.

“Nope.”

“Ooh! Ooh! What about Master Splinter?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hey, at least he was furry like you!”

“Stiles.”

“Master Roshi?” 

_“Stiles.”_

“What?”

“Throat. Teeth.”

Biting back a smile at the abbreviated version of Derek’s standard threat, Stiles mused, “I think that would technically classify as foreplay for me now.”

Derek made a choked off noise that sounded suspiciously like an aborted laugh.

Stiles grinned victoriously.

Peter chuckled as he followed behind them.

“Stiles?” Derek called.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles laughed, hearing the smile in Derek’s voice even if he could not see his face. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of what he now recognized as the scent of happy Sourwolf. He was far too pleased to realize he had successfully tapped into his heightened senses again.

_______________________________________________

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** What do you think so far? Love it? Hate it? Favorite parts / lines?

Excited for the next part? Let me know! Remember - your comments = my writing motivation! :) <3 


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